


Send Me an Angel

by MindNoise



Series: Castrati [1]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-18 03:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindNoise/pseuds/MindNoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy's an orphan. Adam's a special type of singer, a castrato. And I am horrible with summaries.</p><p>youtube video link - https://youtu.be/E1VfX-BkVjU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Land of the Morning Star

**Author's Note:**

> Castrato (castrati – plural) – It was common in the 18th century to castrate young boys (typically around ages 7-9) in order to preserve their singing voices so that they never reached puberty and the voice wouldn’t change. A castrated singer was known as a castrato, castrati being the plural of the word. This practice was a pretty barbaric, and hit or miss as to whether or not the child would be the castrato singer the world wanted, but the castrati were said to sound like angels. They were treated like gods in high society and were very much desired – as long as their voices did not change or break. If this happened, their operatic careers and fame were over. There is only one recording of a castrato, Alessandro Moreschi, the last castrato. He was the only one to make a recording, but it’s grainy and not clear enough to truly showcase the voice. He was also much older when he made that recording, so it's probably not the best illustration of castrati. They sounded like young children when they sang, which was the reason for castration - to preserve that voice from puberty. You can find the recording on youtube.
> 
> Adam is by no means a castrato in real life, his voice doesn’t sound like one, but this is for story purposes ONLY. I’m sure he’s still holding all of his God given equipment. ;) I was struck by castrati history and the romanticism of them, and Anne Rice’s Cry to Heaven, and this is the result. Please be aware, this is NOT a retelling of Rice's book. Her novel simply inspired me. 
> 
> *Disclaimer - This is fiction. None of this is real, nor will it ever be real. For convenience, I’m keeping Adam and Tommy’s appearances (ex – hair color) as they are now. I do not pretend to be an expert in 18th century history, so please pardon any mistakes and/or liberties I may take.  
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy. <3

18th Century Italy

Tommy steps through the ornate double doors of the conservatory. It’s stone structure is large, cold, dim, and it swallows him up. He doesn’t want to be here. But he has to be here. There’s nowhere else for him to go. He’s an orphan. 

He hadn’t been born into wealth, but he never felt the pangs of poverty. Not that he knew, anyway. His parents had loved him, given him and his sister what they could, and Tommy had been satisfied. He’d never really wanted much to begin with. He’d stayed cocooned in his lower class world and poor village, safe and content. That was until his family died of typhoid fever. Nobody knew how it started, where the illness came from, but it wiped out most of his village. No one there was wealthy, so any type of diagnosis or treatment was scarce and basically unknown. Most of the adults and children succumbed to The Fever, which swept through rapidly. The children that lived were either claimed by relatives living elsewhere, or, like Tommy, sent to conservatories that took in orphans. So here he is at thirteen years old. No home. No family. No friends. Relying on strangers to care for him. 

He’d wanted to stay in his home, broken down as it was, because it was home. He didn’t know anything else. He didn’t care if he was technically too young, he could take care of himself. But he wasn’t allowed. No one was allowed to stay in the village. The various land owners decided that it was time to sell off the land, especially after such a deadly epidemic, so the plots of land were sold to individual businesses. Tommy wondered aloud what these people would want with his meager house, and was informed it would be torn down. The icing on his cake of sorrow.

Tommy trudges through the halls of the conservatory, following the porter who’d met him at the conservatory doors. A coachman had shown up early this morning and flatly told Tommy that Maestro Durante had sent this carriage for him to be brought to the conservatory, and he was to pack whatever was left him and come at once. Tommy had no idea who Maestro Durante was, but what could he do? He had nowhere to go, no one to claim him, and he had to leave his house anyway. He didn’t have many belongings, but he put his few clothes and books into a small cloth bag, and followed the stranger to the carriage. He hoped the maestro was nice. 

On the way, he stared out at the landscape, wondering what it would be like to live in a conservatory. He’d seen a drawing of a conservatory once. It was huge, in his opinion. He wondered how much bigger it would be in person. He would probably get lost inside it. He heard that musicians and singers lived there, so it was probably loud too. 

The porter’s sharp steps echo through the hall, ringing through Tommy’s ears, and Tommy tries to step as softly as he can. The conservatory isn’t as loud as he thought it might be. It’s actually quiet at the moment. The porter turns abruptly to the right, stopping in front of a door and unlocks it. He pushes the door open and stands aside, staring down at Tommy with thinly veiled distaste. Nobody likes orphans, especially poor ones.

“Your room,” he states. 

Tommy clutches his small bag of belongings to him and goes inside, anxious to escape the rudeness he’s encountered since the pounding on his front door jolted him from a fitful sleep. He feels a bit of relief when the door closes behind him, and he’s alone to take it all in. Conservatories were originally built to house orphans, but are actually used to train musicians, composers, and singers known as castrati. He’s heard of castrati, that they’re highly revered, almost worshiped in high social circles, showered with fame and fortune. He can’t imagine anyone’s voice that good. When Mr Baretti belted out a few lines from an old musical in his garden on occasion, people would stop and listen, but he was by no means showered with fame or gifts. Maybe Mr Baretti wasn’t a castrato? Tommy briefly wonders what makes someone a castrato. He supposes it’s something in the voice. It’s rumored that they sound like angels. He’s never heard one. They must sound divine, though, to be adored so. 

Tommy puts his bag on the floor and sits on the edge of the bed. The conservatory rearing castrati has nothing to do with Tommy. The fact that it also houses orphans does, however. He lets out a shaky sigh. It was going to be a long, lonely life. 

 

2 years later...

Tommy hurries down the hall, his steps slapping against the stone floor. He’s late for class. Again. He spots Maestro Durante coming around the corner, and attempts to halt himself to a stroll instead of a run. He nearly trips. The tall, lanky, white haired maestro raises his eyebrow and smiles at him. 

“Late again?” he asks, knowing Tommy’s late.

Tommy nods and attempts to apologize, but Maestro holds up a delicate hand. He’s always had a fondness for Tommy, never treats him like a waif or a burden. He apparently knew Tommy’s parents a long time ago, but Tommy doesn’t know how. Tommy asked, but was told it wasn’t the time to discuss such matters when he was still healing and adjusting. When Maestro Durante heard that Tommy was the only one of his family surviving The Fever, he sent for the boy immediately. He’s been in charge of Tommy’s care ever since and treated him like a grandchild. This favored treatment doesn’t go unnoticed by Tommy’s fellow orphans.

Durante reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a slip of paper, handing it to Tommy. It’s a late slip. 

“I had a feeling you would be,” he says. “I know you don’t like philosophy, I didn’t either at your age. I found it dull, pointless babble about nothing. But we all must endure subjects and tasks we don’t care for in order to prepare for future endeavors. Off with you now. And remember, we are having a reception this evening to receive a new castrato into our conservatory, and you will be punctual. Yes?”

“Yes, Maestro,” Tommy replies, and hurries away. 

He walks tentatively into class, handing Mr Marcello the late slip. He’s dismissed with a look to his seat, escaping a hard slap on the underside of his wrist with the teacher’s thick ruler. A few of the older boys swear that Marcello’s ruler has done nerve damage to students’ arms before, but no one can place exactly to whom, so it’s turned into a legend amongst them, and likely not true. Tommy doesn’t want to chance it either way. 

As Marcello resumes his lecture, Isaac leans over towards Tommy.

“Did you see what Glory was wearing this morning?” he asks. 

Tommy smiles and shakes his head, listening intently as Isaac describes it in detail. 

Tommy revels in hearing about the new kitchen maid. Being young, pretty, and plump in all the right places, she has become the fantasy of every boy at the conservatory. Her thick, curled, red hair perfectly frames her bodice, which is always tight and pinched so that much of her chest is pushing out of her dress. The boys fall all over themselves to get glimpses of her, and she regularly obliges by leaning far over to retrieve one thing or another. It sends the boys into fits of excited giggles and swoons, Tommy included, which amuses Glory. Tommy thinks she smiles at him the longest. 

“She was scrubbing the dining hall floor,” Isaac says slyly. “On her knees, bent over.” He stops and makes a rude gesture at the top of his chest in reference to the maid’s dress popping bust, and Tommy snickers. “And she kept rocking back and forth, pushing that brush over the floor. Oh my god, Tommy, you should’ve seen it.”

“Mr Carpenter.” Marcello’s voice was sharp, stabbing through Isaac and Tommy’s low titters. “After class.”

“Yes, sir,” Isaac replies immediately, slumping down in his seat.

“Wonder why he didn’t tell me to stay after?” Tommy wonders quietly. 

“Oh please,” Isaac snorts. “You’re Maestro Durante’s pet. You’re never in trouble.” 

Tommy feels guilty as Isaac huffs at him. He gets into trouble from time to time, but he’s never punished or scolded like the other boys. For the most part, his teachers overlook his tardiness, talking, and daydreaming. It makes the other boys jealous, sometimes hateful, yet fascinated by Tommy. Why is he so special to the head maestro? The lot of them claim to be his friends, hoping to get a break by default, he imagines. Tommy has no control over any of these things, but no one seems to care. When friends get in trouble and he doesn’t, resentment abounds among his peers. 

The boys he is housed with are orphans too. They all live in the lower levels of the conservatory. But his peers have some family or benefactors who pay their way through schooling here. Tommy does not, and the others don’t understand why their relatives have to pay when Tommy gets a free ride, and this widens the gap between him and the others. Tommy doesn’t care about money or benefactors. All he knows is that he’s on his own and it’s scary. At least the others have aunts, uncles, cousins no matter how distant.

Isaac stares ahead, silent for the rest of the lecture. Tommy looks down at his open book, and, not for the first time, tries to swallow his insecurity. 

 

“Isaac,” Tommy calls across the room.

They’ve all gathered in the main hall for receiving the new castrato. Tommy doesn’t know why his group of boys has to be present. The castrati never mix with the orphans. They live on the top floor where it’s said to be warmer, so they’re less likely to get sick and damage their voices. After tonight, he’ll never see this new castrato, won’t even be invited to a performance if the singer gets any offers, so what’s the hoopla for? He’s dressed in his best plain shirt and pants, though, hair combed neatly. He wants to please the maestro if no one else. Maestro is the only reason Tommy’s not living (or dying) in the streets. 

Tommy trots up to Isaac, who’s stuffing his mouth full of cheese. 

“Everything okay?” Tommy asks.

Isaac looks at him blankly, then nods. “Yeah, Marcello had me clean the desks. No big deal. Cheese?”

Tommy breathes an inner sigh of relief, and accepts the cheese offered him. 

“So who’s the castrato?” Tommy asks, shoving the wedge into his mouth. 

Isaac swallows his glob of cheese. “Think his name is Adam or something. I don’t know, supposed to be like the best castrato since Farinelli, but who knows.”

Tommy nods, the name meaning little to him. He’s heard of Farinelli, knew the singer was a big deal in high society, but since the opera is a completely different world from his and one he’ll never know, he doesn’t pay much attention to anything involving it. 

“Why’s he coming here? Doesn’t he have a conservatory?” he asks. 

Isaac’s pretty good at picking up gossip. All the boys, even the older ones, usually consult him about rumors and other various things overheard, and he’s usually right. Isaac enjoys this authority, and when asked where he gets his information, he simply replies that he has his ways.

“Burned down,” Isaac tells him. “Everybody that survived has been sent to different conservatories, different regions. Apparently, Maestro Durante fought hard to get Adam to come here. Who knows what kind of gifts he’s getting for it. His maestro is coming tomorrow.” 

Tommy just grunts, reaching for the strawberries on the table.

After forty-five minutes, Tommy’s restless. So is Isaac. In fact, most of them are, and even watching the instructors and Maestro Durante wringing their hands and flitting around the room waiting for Adam has lost its entertainment value. The castrati present are too stuck up to mingle with the likes of the orphans. Hell, they barely talk to anyone, so cracking jokes at their expense is difficult. Tommy’s tired and ready to go back to his room and to bed. His back aches from standing, and he’s eaten too many strawberries. 

Tommy releases a wide, cavernous yawn, his jaw popping with it. As he closes his mouth, he sees a tall, dark haired guy across the room standing in the doorway, intense gaze fixed right on Tommy. His eyes cut through Tommy, his disapproval evident, and Tommy returns the look with a sneer of his own, silently asking who the hell he thinks he is. He’s really trying to blow off the fact he’s been caught with his mouth wide open.

“Signore! Adam, finally” Maestro Durant cries. “We were beginning to think something had happened.”

Adam had managed to stroll in while the majority of the room had their backs toward the door. Now he’s swamped by instructors, composers, musicians, fellow castrati, and the head maestro, all vying for his attention. Adam looks at everyone around him, flashing smiles, giving bows and gratitude where they’re due. 

“Sure is tall,” Isaac murmurs. “Then again, a lot of them are.”

Tommy nods, flushing deeply, hoping that no one else realizes that Adam’s first sight when he walked in was of Tommy’s wide open mouth.

Isaac sighs. “Wonder when we can go. No point in us being here anyway. Mr Fabulous isn’t gonna speak to us.” He turns to Tommy.

“Go ask Maestro if we can leave,” he says, and the other boys agree in unison.

“Why me?” Tommy jumps.

“Because he likes you,” Isaac says. 

“He likes all of us,” Tommy points out.

“Not like he likes you.”

Tommy doesn’t know who said it, but he doesn’t like the suggestion in the tone. 

He looks towards Maestro Durante, who’s walking Adam around the room for introductions. He looks away. He can’t approach Maestro. Adam will devour him with a glare if he does, he just knows it. 

“I can’t just go up,” Tommy starts, and the boys cut him off, encouraging him to go ask, do it for them, he’ll never get in trouble for it. Before he can protest again, the Maestro is standing in front of his group, with Adam. 

“Boys,” Maestro Durante says. “It is my honor to present to you the wonderfully talented singer, Adam.”

They mumble their greetings, and Tommy dares a glance up at Adam, who is staring with that same disapproval straight at him. His eyes are so blue they’re startling, and Tommy stops breathing. 

“Il mio piacere,” Adam says, nodding to them all. “My pleasure.” 

He smiles woodenly at them, then settles his gaze back on Tommy. Not able to reply and scared to hold Adam’s gaze, Tommy gives him a slight nod, looking down. 

“Adam’s maestro will arrive tomorrow,” Durante told them. “He will continue to be in charge of Adam’s training, of course.”

The boys feign interest while Tommy continues to inspect his shoes. He starts breathing again when the maestro and Adam move on to another group of people. 

“Well, we’ve met the god of singing, I’m going to bed,” Isaac states. “They can’t possibly need me for anything. Night, everyone.”

The others agree they’re no longer required to stay at this event, and begin to disperse. Tommy dares a last look at Adam, who’s still being paraded around the room, a smile plastered on his face, and Tommy wonders just how genuine the guy is on the inside. No matter. It’s unlikely Tommy will even see him after tonight. They’re in vastly different worlds, and though they may be housed under the same roof, these worlds don’t mingle. 

Adam’s spine stiffens and he turns his head, looking directly at Tommy. Tommy’s so rattled he backs up into the buffet table behind him, and quickly looks away. He swallows hard and hurries from the room. In the hallway, he tries to shake it off. Why is he nervous? The guy is obviously a self absorbed ass, so why does Tommy feel so self conscious? 

Telling himself it’s all done and over, he walks back to his room, and by the time he crawls into bed, his nerves have settled. As his breathing levels off and becomes deeper, Tommy’s mind wanders back to the reception, the tall, dark haired figure, the disapproval, the fake smiles, the eyes. The stunning blue eyes that left him in a daze, and he briefly entertains the idea of seeing Adam singing on stage. What does he sound like? How can he find out?


	2. The Wind Will Blow Into Your Face as the Years Pass You By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy's an orphan. Adam's a special type of singer, a castrato.   
> I suck w/ summaries, but things progress. ;)

Tommy stands on an ottoman to dust the lavishly carved fireplace mantle. When Maestro Durante told him that he would be in charge of cleaning the castrati and musicians’ practice rooms in the evenings, Tommy had been inwardly appalled. It must’ve shown on his face because Durante gave him a patient, chiding look. 

“My dear boy, you’ve been here for two years,” Maestro Durante said, holding up two long, pale fingers. “It’s time to pull yourself up and start contributing.”

Tommy found himself nodding. Maestro was right. Before his family died, Tommy had done plenty of work around the house. This was no different. It was time to earn his way again, be important to the conservatory. He held his head a little higher with this new sense of purpose, and told Maestro that he would gladly keep the practice rooms neat and orderly. Maestro was pleased, and Tommy was happy. 

Now sneezing in the dust and nearly toppling off the ottoman he’s balanced on, Tommy wonders just why he’s so proud of himself. He swipes the surface one last time and steps down, satisfied the mantle is clean. He moves on to wipe the tables, piano, candlesticks, straightening various sheet music, and his mind wanders to what his friends might be doing. Likely trying to spy on Glory. The thought of her and what happened this morning makes Tommy’s face burn. 

He’d woken up late and missed breakfast, so on break between classes, he snuck through the dining hall, hoping to get into the kitchen and at least steal an apple. But Glory had caught him skulking through the room and called his name. He jumped out of his skin, and she laughed at him. 

“What is this, love?” she asked. “Why are you sneaking about?”

He didn’t want to admit he’d overslept. He wasn’t good at lying, much less talking to girls, so while he was trying to think of something to say, she figured it out herself.

“Come to think of it, I don’t recall having seen your pretty face at breakfast,” she said, narrowing her eyes, still smiling at him.

Tommy felt himself blush and his stomach flutter. She’d called him pretty. He shook his head. “I missed it.”

“You must be starving,” she decided. “I’ll make you a snack, no worries.”

He smiled back at her, grateful, and as she was turning to go into the kitchen, the dining hall door swung open. Adam waltzed in as though he owned the place, fixing a suspicious stare on Tommy and the maid. Tommy’s throat closed up and he just stared back. Glory, however, gushed at Adam. 

“Signore,” she said, her smile wider than Tommy had ever seen it. She certainly never smiled that way at him. “And just what are you in need of?”

Adam’s jaw clenched, and his voice was soft, yet edged when he spoke.

“Tea,” he replied. “Hot.”

Glory cocked her hip out, placing a hand coquettishly on it. “Honey?”

“Si,” he answered. “If it’s no trouble.”

She giggled. Tommy wanted to smack her, then Adam, then throw himself off a cliff. She was flirting with Adam, and in front of Tommy.

“No trouble at all,” she said. “Anything else?”

“That’s all,” Adam told her.

She giggled again, and Tommy could feel himself fading into the background. She clearly preferred Adam over him. 

Who wouldn’t, he thought grimly.

“Come now,” she said slyly. “That can’t be all you need.” 

Adam smiled cooly. “But it is. Grazie.”

She bit her lip, twirling a lock of her hair. The atmosphere became awkward for Tommy and he had no idea how to gracefully leave the room. Clearly, Glory was going to serve up Adam’s tea and forget all about him. 

Finally, Glory turned and flounced through the kitchen door, leaving Tommy alone with Adam. The silence in the room was terrible. Tommy’s instinct told him to just leave, since Glory wasn’t there now, just leave. But his mouth opened before he could stop it.

“Sore throat?” he asked conversationally. 

Adam glanced at him, and didn’t answer.

Maybe he didn’t understand the question, Tommy’s brain stupidly reasoned, and his mouth shot open again. 

“Because of the tea,” he explained. “It soothes sore throats. You must have one. Which is probably not good. You know, for a singer.”

Oh god, shut up, he screamed inside. You’re explaining tea to a singer?

Adam huffed out an annoyed sigh and, without looking Tommy’s way, replied, “Tell her I’ll take it in my room.”

He turned on his heel and left. Tommy would gladly die a hundred deaths if it would just take back that entire scene. He’d never miss breakfast again. If he did, he’d just starve, fuck the snack. 

Glory bustled back through with a dainty cup balanced on a saucer, the liquid inside steaming and smelling of warm honey and lemon. 

“Where...?” she looked around the room, then at Tommy.

Tommy cleared his throat and managed to speak as though he had intelligence. 

“He said he’d take it in his room.”

Glory smiled so wide Tommy thought her face might crack. She set the cup down on one of the dining tables and walked to the mirror over on the far wall, primping her hair. 

What is she doing, he wondered. He voiced the question, and she answered with a giddy pitch in her tone.

“All the castrati want room service from the maid,” she told him with a wink. She pinched her cheeks to a high pink color. “And that one can have whatever he wants from this maid.”

Tommy felt his stomach sink as he watched his first crush sail out of the room with the new castrato’s tea and ‘honey’ in hand. He felt ill. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he’d still missed breakfast and was still hungry. 

Now, dusting off candlesticks, he’s no longer hungry, but still a touch nauseated when he remembers this morning. 

Great way to make a fool of yourself, he thinks. Adam hates you for whatever reason. Glory has no idea you’re alive anymore. And now you’re cleaning up after the snobbish musicians. He lets out a deep, tired sigh. A little inner pity party never hurt anyone. 

When he’s satisfied that the room is as dusted and swept as it’ll ever be, he closes the door on it, and proceeds to the next room with his broom and dust rag. He doesn’t have to do as much to each room nightly, just check to make sure things are put away, restock candles, paper, ink, whatever people might need during the day. The dusting and sweeping only need be done once a week, but since this is his first night looking after the practice rooms, he decided to go all the way, and have an easier, faster run at it the rest of the week. 

Pushing the door of his next room open, he sees Adam lounging on the white velvet divan near the fireplace, stretched out from end to end with a book in his hands. Tommy pauses, taking in the sight. His gaze slides up Adam’s body, to his face. Adam is really long and lean, and actually quite lovely when he’s relaxed and focused. He looks so natural, not like he’s trying to be someone or something specific, to fit a particular mold or ideal. Almost a shame to disturb him. And after this morning, Tommy doesn’t really want to face him. He bristles at the thought of Adam and Glory together in his room, and he speaks as detached and coldly as he knows how. 

“Sorry to bother you, but I’m supposed to straighten this room,” he states. 

Adam looks over at him. His features harden, and Tommy is once again facing the self-absorbed castrato. He holds his head up, refusing to buckle under this attitude again. 

“If you don’t mind,” Tommy says. He sweeps his hand aside, towards the door, indicating Adam needs to leave. 

Adam smirks and sits up, holding Tommy’s gaze. He snaps the book shut, stands, and tosses the book onto the floor. It lands on the stone flooring with a loud slap. He glides past Tommy and out of the room, leaving Tommy rather dumbfounded at the deliberate rudeness. 

Collecting himself, Tommy stomps the rest of the way into the room. He starts dusting and sweeping, purposely avoiding the book on the floor. He even sweeps around it, refusing to touch it, glaring at it as though it’s smirking at him exactly the way Adam does. 

He doesn’t understand why Adam is treating him this way. He’s never done any harm to the guy. Hell, he doesn’t even know Adam! Tommy can only conclude that Adam’s hostility is because Tommy’s an orphan. Tears fill his eyes. It’s not like he wants to be an orphan. He didn’t ask for this lot in life. 

“Fucking jerk,” he mutter, swiping at his eyes with his sleeve. Anger surging through him, he yanks the book off the floor. As much as he’d love to leave it where it is, he can’t. He rams it back in its place on the bookshelf. 

Snuffing the candles one by one, he leaves and closes the door to the room, still feeling defeated and small. He slowly makes his way to the stairs, descending to the lower level where he lives. Tomorrow, if he encounters Adam in the practice room, he’ll just wait around the corner until he sees the guy leave. No need to invite his hostility anymore. 

The next evening, that is just what Tommy does. As he rounds the corner, he hears a voice winding its way through the hall and into his ears. He stops in mid-step. He’s never heard such singing. It’s unreal, almost ethereal. It wraps itself around Tommy’s head, caressing and strong. It has to be a castrato!

He hurries down the hall, the voice luring him to the practice room. He’ll just stand outside and listen; they won’t know he’s there. He’s wanted to hear one sing ever since he came here, but they never practice this late in the day when Tommy has free time, or has any reason at all to be on this floor. He pauses outside the open door, closing his eyes, listening intently. It’s beautiful. The pitch, the tone, the rise and fall, the breath – beautiful. He feels the voice connect with something inside of him, and it takes his breath away. Tommy feels suspended from reality as the voice swells, pure and seductive.

A sharp thud like something being slammed down interrupts the song, and it jolts Tommy out of his spell. The voice is muted instantly. A weighted silence falls, then an exasperated sigh. 

“Adam, you must pull back on your vocal cords for higher vibrancy,” the maestro says. “How many times must we go over this? You will never be in Farinelli’s league, much less exceed it, if you do not control your register.” 

Tommy could hear Adam’s maestro slapping his hand on a hard surface, likely a table, punctuating each word of his last statement. 

“Again,” the maestro demands. 

Adam’s voice rises again, and even though it’s the same lovely voice, Tommy can hear the emotional strain in it this time. 

“Pull back,” the maestro shouts. “Use your lungs, that’s where your power is! Use them! Farinelli can hold a note in just under a minute, are you that good yet? You are not! Do you want to be? I have my doubts! Control it, Adam! Do you want to be relegated to the Church chorus? A nobody in the back of the room with a hundred other nobodies who couldn’t make it in opera? Control!”

Tommy tenses up at the maestro’s shouting. How can he speak to his student that way? How is this supposed to help Adam? What Tommy hears is beautiful, and he doesn’t understand why Adam’s maestro is so angry. Of course, Tommy’s no opera expert, but he knows what he likes, and he likes, despite himself, Adam’s voice. 

“Control,” the maestro shouts over Adam, who is trying to hold the note. “Do not force your register! Adam!”

Tommy hears a slight hitch in the note, and singing cuts off immediately. The maestro curses, shouting about fading registers, weak lungs, and the failure of students. Tommy backs away from the door just as Adam’s maestro bursts through. Luckily, he’s storming down the hall in the opposite direction, so he doesn’t see Tommy. 

He hears Adam coughing, and Tommy edges back to the doorway and peers through. Adam is drinking water and looking as defeated as Tommy felt last night. He sets the cup down carefully, as though he’s measuring each movement in effort not to strike out. Tommy can see his jaw set, his body rigid, and he assumes it’s against the harsh criticism of his teacher. If this is how their relationship operates, no wonder Adam’s so unfriendly to everyone else. He can’t even please the one person he needs to please in order to succeed as a lead castrato in the opera. 

Adam massages his throat with both hands. He tilts his head back, blinking at the ceiling, and Tommy realizes he’s trying not to cry openly, even though he thinks he’s alone. Control. Adam is suddenly human to him, as fragile as the rest of them, and Tommy feels himself softening towards him. 

Not wanting to infringe on Adam’s privacy, or make him aware that his failure had an audience, Tommy silently moves away from the door, away from the room. He’ll start at the other end this time. As he straightens the room, though, Adam’s unshed tears still linger in his mind. 

You sounded like an angel to me, he silently tells Adam.


	3. Seek the Roses Along the Way, Just Beware of the Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy encounters Adam in the library.  
> Isaac has a plan to sneak into a castrati rehearsal.

He hears his name called as he walks down the hallway crowded with other boys in between class. He pauses so the caller can catch up with him. 

“Tommy,” Isaac sidles up next to him. “I heard the castrati are rehearsing tomorrow morning at Teatro Alla Scala. We should go listen to them.”

Tommy’s heart skips a beat. Hearing castrati in an actual opera house! It has to be the most amazing thing in the world. He’s never even seen an opera house, not the inside of one anyway. He hasn’t told anyone that he heard Adam practicing upstairs the other night. He certainly wasn’t going to mention the treatment by his maestro. It would seem too much like betrayal if he divulged that incident, not that Adam deserves his loyalty. Even so, he replays the singing, the voice, shutting out the maestro’s criticism over and over in his mind. He’s been caught spacing out over the memory several times a day. When questioned, he simply replies that he’s tired. Isaac is the best friend he has here, but he just doesn’t want to share any part of that experience. He wants to keep it to himself, like a precious jewel locked in a velvet box that you rarely open, inhaling the memory, savoring it and holding it deep. He would love to hear Adam again, any of them really, but especially Adam. 

“I can’t,” he says, his inner excitement falling like a brick. “I have to work on that paper for Mr Marcello.”

“What?” Isaac looks at Tommy like he’s grown another head. “Are you fucking kidding?”

Feeling as though he’s committed a grievous sin, Tommy just shakes his head. 

“Tommy, these are the greatest opera singers in all of Italy, all the world,” Isaac explains. “We can go hear them rehearse. Why would that stupid philosophy paper be more important?”

“They’re not gonna let us in,” Tommy points out. 

“We sneak in, genius,” Isaac answers. “ I can’t believe I have to talk you into this. They’re all gonna be there. Don’t you want to hear them?”

Tommy bites his lip. He wants to go so badly, but when is he going to get this research paper done? It’s due Monday, and in the grand tradition of procrastinators, Tommy has yet to start it. Isaac can see his indecision. 

“Stay up late and work on the paper,” he tells Tommy. “Do the research tonight, write it tomorrow afternoon. You can get it done in no time. Come on, Tommy. We’ll never be able to sneak in on a performance night. It’s tomorrow or never.” 

Tommy nods. He doesn’t point out that if they practice once at an opera house, they’ll likely practice again at one. This could be a one time chance, his brain reasons. Therefore, you should probably take it. Just in case.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, and Isaac smiles. “I’ll just squeeze in this paper somehow. Count me in.”

“Great,” Isaac slaps him on the back to seal the deal. “This should be fun. Never heard one of them before. Hope they don’t break my ears.”

Tommy laughs. “If that ever happened, I doubt any of them would still be invited to sing for the Royals.”

“Hope all they do is sing for them and not socialize with them. They can be really hateful,” Isaac says. “You hear what Adam did to Glory?”

The mention of Adam and Glory in the same sentence makes his throat close and his stomach fall. He doesn’t need to hear of their escapades in Adam’s room. Isaac doesn’t wait for Tommy’s yay or nay, he plunges on.

“She took tea to his room,” he begins, and Tommy already knows this part. “And no one knows what happened, but he threw her out.”

“Threw her out?” Tommy asks. He’s picturing Adam picking Glory up over his head and flinging her past the doorway into the hall.

“I mean, she stormed out of his room, mad as the devil himself,” Isaac continues. “She ran into another castrato at the other end of the hall, nearly knocked him down. He was mortified she’d touched him. She turned and yelled at him that they’re not even real men and they can all go drown in the river for all she cared.”

Tommy hears Isaac speaking, but his mind is still stuck on Adam not keeping Glory in his room. She’d gone up there expecting Adam to fall for her, and who wouldn’t fall for her, but he’d dismissed her. 

“Nobody knows what Adam said to her, because he refuses to even acknowledge she exists,” Isaac continues. “Glory won’t talk about it, she just starts slamming things around if you mention his name.”

“How do you get all this information?” Tommy asks. “We don’t mingle with the castrati.” 

Isaac pauses, his good humor dampened. “I have a friend. A castrato. We don’t want rumors, so we just keep our distance when other people are around.”

“You can’t talk to him freely” Tommy asks. He’s surprised. He never guessed Isaac was friends with one of them. But his lack of jesters at that population now makes sense. “That’s sad, don’t you think? That you can’t openly be friends?”

“Hey, that’s the way it is,” Isaac tells him. “Don’t analyze it, Tommy.”

He tells Tommy that he’ll see him at dinner, and walks away. He’s given Tommy a lot to think about, though. Like, it’s not impossible for the two groups to be friends, despite their vastly different worlds. You just couldn’t talk about it. And whatever happened in Adam’s room, it wasn’t what Glory intended when she went flitting up there with Adam’s tea that day. Tommy pauses, trying to remember something else Isaac said. Something Glory had said about real men. 

Did she say they were not real men? What’s that mean?

 

Tommy climbs the steps to the fourth floor, his feet slapping against the stone. Usually he tries to be quiet, but right now Tommy doesn’t care how much noise he makes. He’s tired and it’s late and he’d rather be doing a hundred other things than going up to the music library to research this stupid paper on the philosophy of music for Marcello. Doesn’t Marcello already know the philosophy of music? Isn’t he the philosophy teacher? Why does Tommy have to research this out and write it down when the man should already know this stuff?

Tommy hates writing papers. But everyone has to do a paper, and Mr Marcello didn’t even let them pick their own topics. He just randomly handed them slips of paper with pre-determined topics scrawled on them, and that was that. They had no choice in the matter other than to do the assignment and presumably pass, or not do the assignment and definitely flunk. This was their final project in lieu of taking the last test. Tommy hated tests, too, but at least they were quicker than research papers. Life was stupid sometimes. 

He pushes open one of the heavy oak doors to the music library, shoving it with all his weight. He hates being so skinny sometimes. Most of the boys from downstairs never ventured up here. This library is mainly for the musicians, singers, up and coming maestros, and the like. Not for orphans who will likely run a vegetable stand, if they’re lucky, once they become old enough to leave the conservatory. Tommy didn’t want to come up here, but Marcello suggested there was more adequate information housed in this library than the one downstairs. And since this paper will determine whether or not he passes the class, he figures he should try to do a good job. 

The library is quiet. Tomb-like quiet, and Tommy feels like he should hold his breath so he won’t make any noise. He looks at the seemingly endless rows of bookshelves, solid and towering frames balancing as much literature as they can hold. How’s he going to find anything in this monstrosity? He sighs heavily. He heads towards the ordered stacks, noting that there aren’t many people in here at all. As in no people at all that he can see. It’s evening time, but it’s not late. Well, not everyone puts things off like you do, he scolds himself. 

He tiptoes along, his eyes frantically scanning the wooden giants and their cloth and paper bound charges for a hint as to where he might begin his search. No clue. He finds himself stopping among the bookshelves and slowly turning in a circle, hoping for something to catch his eye, send up a flare, anything. He groans aloud, and, frowning, turns again to see Adam sitting quietly at one of the large tables, book in one hand, steel pen in the other, taking notes. His head is still bent over the paper, but he’s looking up at Tommy. This time his look is without malice and more curious. 

Regardless, Tommy still fidgets. Before he can stop himself, he tilts his head towards Adam in greeting. He inwardly starts to cringe, knowing this will probably cause Adam to fume like a volcano waiting to blow. But Adam merely gives him a slight smile, not condescending, just a small acknowledgment, and goes back to his book. Tommy is surprised and grateful at the same time. Realizing his palms are sweating and his heart is thudding, he wipes his hands on his pants, and quickly disappears behind a row of books. He feels a little dizzy with relief. Maybe Adam’s not a total ass. Maybe he doesn’t have it out for Tommy. He smiles to himself, then remembers why he’s up here, and starts browsing book titles. 

Half an hour later, Tommy is still browsing book titles. He’s scanned so many book spines that the gilded words are blurring into each other. He’s tired and frustrated. This is a disaster. Why does he have to do this stupid paper? What’s Marcello’s problem that he couldn’t just give a test like any normal teacher? Tommy’s ready to scream. 

“Are you looking for something in particular?” 

Tommy jumps at the voice beside him. He hadn’t heard anyone walk down the aisle. He looks over at an inquisitive Adam, placing a book back on the shelf. The fact that it’s Adam asking and not sneering stuns the hell out of Tommy, and he has no idea what to say. He’s not even sure he understands what Adam just asked him, much less the fact that Adam is speaking civilly to him. When Adam raises his eyebrows, indicating he’s still waiting for an answer, Tommy clears his throat. 

“Uh yeah, I have this paper and I don’t know what I’m looking for,” he croaks out. He mentally kicks himself for croaking the answer like a frog and sounding like a dolt. 

“What’s the topic?” Adam asks. 

What the fuck is going on, Tommy asks himself, still staring at Adam. Am I dreaming? Did Isaac slip some weird powder in my food at dinner? 

“Philosophy of music,” he answers quietly. 

He’s pretty much in awe of Adam right now. His stance, his voice, the intense way that his gaze devours Tommy when he’s just asking a simple question. 

“Well, to start, you’re in the wrong section,” Adam tells him. He turns and walks away, and Tommy follows, praying that he’s supposed to be following and it’s not some cruel trick, and Adam will suddenly yell at him for stalking. 

Staring at Adam’s back, he can still hear Adam’s voice soaring through the piece he was singing the other night. Tommy’s mother taught him it wasn’t polite to eavesdrop on people, whatever they’re doing, but in this case, he’s glad he did. Hopefully, he’ll be hearing Adam singing again tomorrow, even though Adam won’t know it. Again. 

Adam winds their way through the stacks, and stops in the center of an aisle. The trip seems rather random to Tommy, but Adam’s familiar with this library and he’s not. Adam turns back to him. 

“You might want to start here,” he tells Tommy. 

Tommy nods, looking up at the almost ceiling high bookshelf, still feeling daunted. 

“Do you know what you’re actually looking for?” Adam asks. 

Tommy blushes and looks away from Adam’s eyes, shaking his head. He has no clue what he’s really there to find. If the title doesn’t have the words “philosophy” and “music” in it, then he’s lost. 

Adam scans the stack, then plucks a book from the shelf, its cover scraping the ones next to it, whispering angrily at being pulled out of its spot. He hands it to Tommy.

“Start with this. It should help,” he says. 

Tommy takes the book almost reverently. As Adam walks past him to leave, Tommy remembers his manners. 

“Thanks, Adam,” he says quickly. 

Adam turns back slightly. “You’re welcome,” he replies. “Tommy.”

 

Tommy rolls in his bed restlessly. After Adam gave him the book, it’d taken every ounce of will for Tommy to focus on the research rather than the exchange with Adam. And the fact that Adam knew his name. He managed, though, flipping through the book, selecting a few more off the shelf, and then sitting at a table to take notes. He didn’t see Adam anywhere and figured he left after finding the book for Tommy. While Tommy was mildly disappointed, he was relieved. There would be no way Tommy could concentrate on his paper with Adam in the room. He briefly wondered why that was, but brushed it aside as he started reading. 

To his surprise, he found the subject of music interesting. One book contrasted music with paintings and literature, two types of art that were, on the whole, physical objects. The interpretation of music, however, was mostly in performance. It could be performed and interpreted many different ways according to who performed it, wrote it, or heard it. It wasn’t as abstract as other arts and expressed emotion differently. He liked the idea of organized sound appealing to pitch, tone, and rhythm. 

As he read about music as aesthetic poetry and emotional responses, Tommy kept hearing Adam’s voice in the back of his mind. When he read that music was an expression of emotions themselves, not just a depiction like paintings, and the reflection came from the composer or the singer, he felt it all made perfect sense. He’d heard Adam’s voice change after the row with his maestro, his emotion clearly heavier and strained. Not only was Adam’s emotion affected, Tommy’s emotion, as the listener, was affected as well. He’d definitely responded to Adam’s hurt, which hinged on the maestro’s approval or disapproval. 

Tommy could’ve read about the nature and aesthetic value of music until dawn, but the library closed at midnight, so he had to leave. People weren’t allowed to check out the books from the library, so he’d have to come back tomorrow night if he wanted to read more. He felt he had enough information and thought to write a decent paper to get him through class, but he wanted to come back and look at more for his own interest.

Now, with the information swimming in his head, Tommy can’t sleep. He feels like he’s wrapped in some rich blanket, secreted away from his ordinary world. He suddenly yearns to belong to this creative, expressive culture. He wants to be part of it, contribute to it. But he can’t play an instrument, nor can he sing. He pulls his blanket over his head and lets the memory of Adam’s voice envelop him. 

Adam’s face appears behind his eyes, and Tommy focuses on his features. Every time he’s face to face with Adam, he’s nervous and trying not to make too much eye contact. Adam’s personality is pretty strong behind his eyes, and Tommy feels he’d be consumed if he got too close. Not that it would be a bad thing. Adam’s eyes are intense. And a really blue. Tommy feels a slight quiver travel from the back of his lower spine through his groin. Lovely crystal blue eyes. 

His best feature, in Tommy’s opinion, is his lips. So perfectly shaped, full, and he even has a freckle on the bottom lip. In fact, his has freckles all over his face, but Tommy’s fascinated by the one on his bottom lip. He wishes he could see Adam smile. Not the dutiful smile he gave at his reception, but an honest, relaxed smile. He bets that it lights up Adam’s entire face, and he tries to imagine it. Focused on Adam’s mouth, Tommy’s lower body begins to react. He ignores it. He doesn’t feel that way about guys. But there is no doubt Adam has a beautiful face. 

What about his hair? Tommy’s mind asks. Very dark, he thinks. Dark and full. Wonder how it feels to touch it? Let it slide through your fingers like silk. Or grab a handful and pull it hard, make those lips part in an exclamation. The thought sends a jolt through him. He’s never thought of a guy this way. He has no idea where the thought came from, but his cock doesn’t seem to care. It’s swelling and tingling. He puts a hand on it in an attempt to push down the swelling, but the touch just seems to encourage it. His mind starts running wild with visions of Adam in the library, singing in the practice room, walking through the reception hall. Adam with his dark hair, blue eyes, smooth lips, and Tommy’s breath hitches. He feels panic welling up. He reacts this way over girls, not guys. But there’s something about Adam…. 

Tommy slips his hand beneath his waistband and grips his hard cock firmly, biting his bottom lip to keep from making any noise. He’s thankful at that moment he doesn’t have a roommate like most of the other boys. The panic decreases his hard on somewhat, and he feels disappointed. He doesn’t really want it to go away. He thinks about Glory, her red hair, smooth skin, her too tight bodice, and his body reacts, but not like it did when he thought of Adam. Before he realizes it, his mind is fixed on Adam again, and his cock is fully alive. 

His mind starts running through visions of Adam of its own volition, and Tommy just gives in to it. He squeezes his cock and starts to slowly pull on it. Adam’s voice drugs his brain like an aphrodisiac, and his cock starts to feel heavy and hot in his hand. He rolls so that he’s mostly face down on the bed, his face buried in the pillow, his weight resting on top of his hand still gripping his cock. He thrusts his hips, gasping at the electric charge he feels. He focuses on Adam’s eyes, and moves his hips in a rhythm. He grips his cock a little harder, whimpering at the feel of his rough hands on hot skin, and he pushes a little faster. He smears the wetness at the tip down the shaft, making the movement more sensitive. 

Breathing into the pillow is making his face hot, but he doesn’t dare turn his head for fear of moaning out loud and waking up the entire conservatory to what he’s doing. He tries to hold his breath, just let it out and suck it back in when necessary as he grinds down into his hand, a delicious throb building from the back of his spine all the way out and even down to his toes. Adam is doing this to him. 

Tommy turns his focus to Adam’s lips. Those beautifully curved lips. They’re perfectly shaped top and bottom, full, pink, and the freckle on the bottom lip. That little freckle on the bottom lip, just big enough to attract attention to those lips. Tommy imagines what his lips would feel like. They’re probably as soft as they look, smooth and firm. They would probably envelop Tommy’s lips if they kissed, force Tommy to melt into them. Tommy breathes harder into his pillow, his hips moving faster. What if he licks Adam’s bottom lip? What if he bites that little freckle just sitting there, teasing him… Tommy cries out, pushing his face harder into the pillow as he comes. Lights explode behind his eyes, and his hips lock up, so he rides himself through the orgasm with his hand. His mind chants Adam Adam Adam as the wave comes down. 

Once he catches his breath and the ringing in his ears stops, he feels embarrassment creeping up on him. What did he just do? Over a guy? And a guy he barely knows, at that. He can’t possibly face Adam again, knowing he just….. over him…. No he can never face Adam again. Adam would surely know as soon as he looked at Tommy. It’d be written all over his face that he’s jerked off to thoughts of him, and then Adam would think he was a freak and probably hate him. 

And you’re supposed to crash his practice at Teatro Alla Scala, he reminds himself. What about that? You can’t get out of that. Isaac won’t let you. Oh fuck, Isaac will know, too. He’ll take one look at me and start laughing. I can’t face anyone again. They’ll all know I got off to thoughts of a guy. 

Tommy hides his face in his pillow again, trying to swallow the shame he’s feeling, and quiet the accusing voices in his head. 

 

Tommy stands in the foyer of the conservatory, waiting on Isaac. He’d slept fitfully after... best not to think about that, he reasons. He tried to come up with an excuse, someway to get out of this trip, but Isaac wasn’t listening. So here he is, waiting to sneak into one of the most famous opera houses in Italy. And he’ll hear Adam sing. The mere thought of Adam at all makes him blush. He can feel it. He hope Isaac doesn’t notice. 

Isaac claps him on the shoulder, causing Tommy to nearly swallow his tongue in fright. 

“Where is your brain?” Isaac laughs. “You must’ve been a hundred miles away.”

Tommy gives him a nervous shrug. 

“Ready?” Isaac asks. 

Tommy nods, and follows Isaac out the door to the carriage. He was nervous about facing Isaac this morning. He figured his shameful act would be written all over him. If it is, Isaac hasn’t pointed it out. Tommy is certainly not going to bring it up. He climbs into the carriage behind Isaac. 

Once they’re standing on the street across from the opera house, any thoughts of last night disappear. The Teatro Alla Scala looms before them. It’s a massive white stone structure with balconies and large windows. How the hell are they going to get inside? 

“Come on,” Isaac tugs on Tommy’s sleeve. “We’ll try around back. It’s probably less guarded.”

“You don’t have a plan?” Tommy asks. He thought Isaac had this whole thing figured out.

“The plan is to sneak in,” he states. 

Tommy doesn’t know what to say to that. He just prays they don’t get caught. What would Maestro Durante say? As they get around to the back of the building, and Isaac tries to find a door lock or window to pry open, it suddenly hits Tommy - Adam’s in there. It stuns him for some reason and he feels dizzy. Why is he reacting this way? 

He sees Isaac hunched over a door, presumably picking the lock, and when it pops open, Isaac looks back at him with a wide grin. They’ve found a way in. This is it.


	4. Hear This Voice From Deep Inside, It’s the Call of Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac and Tommy sneak into the opera house.  
> Tommy finds out what a castrato is.  
> Adam and Tommy's relationship evolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: the castrato/castrati definition -  
> I took definitions and information from different sources and put them all into several paragraphs, which is what Tommy's reading later in the chapter. I did not attempt to plagiarize, but put all sources into my own words. 
> 
> Also, if you're curious about the chapter titles, they are lyrics from Scorpion's Send Me An Angel, which makes me think of these two.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1VfX-BkVjU

Tommy shuts the door softly behind them, keeping a firm grip on the handle and not letting go until he hears it click into place. He turns to Isaac.

“I hope you know where we’re going,” he whispers. 

Isaac shrugs. “We follow the noise?” He laughs when Tommy gapes at him. “Relax, we need to find the side stairs that the servants use.”

They appear to be in some sort of storage room. Tommy glances around and sees wooden props that look like de-constructed buildings, furniture, costumes, wigs, dulled instruments. There doesn’t seem to be any order or thought to where these items are placed. It’s just crowded. Isaac weaves his way through the room, and Tommy follows. He hopes the rest of the theater doesn’t look like this. He hopes they don’t get caught. It’s so stupid they have to sneak in, but rehearsals here are always closed sessions. Even if they weren’t, it’s not likely orphans would be allowed to just wander in and out at will.

“So are we gonna see the rest of this place?” he asks. “I mean, I don’t wanna just see the servants stairs.”

“We’ll see the main theater, of course,” Isaac says. “I guess we could sneak into the lobby areas or something.” He snorts and turns back to Tommy. “Never pegged you for a theater person.”

“I like theater,” Tommy says sullenly. 

“Since when?” Isaac asks.

“Since now,” Tommy snaps. “I just want to see the place. Is that a crime?”

Isaac laughs. “Calm down. I’m just teasing. Hey, we’ll see what we can, okay?”

Isaac cracks the door leading into the building and listens for any noise. Tommy blindly follows him when he slips through the door. They walk carefully down the dim hallway, looking around to see if anyone’s coming. Not that they can do anything but get caught if someone is coming. Maybe they can just say they’re part of the set up group or something. The walls here aren’t painted and still smell of fresh wood, the carpeting thin but not tamped down due to walkway traffic, and Tommy assumes the main parts of the theater are a bit more glamorous than this. The building itself is still fairly new, only a few years old, and the leading opera house in Italy. It’d been built by the empress of Austria to replace an earlier theater that had burned down after a carnival gala. Tommy found some documents in the conservatory’s music library last night since he was going to be sneaking in today. 

They reach another door at the end of the long hallway, and Isaac eases it open and peers out. Satisfied that it’s clear, he grins back at Tommy, and they slip out. Tommy is instantly dumbfounded by the sheer amount of gold and red he sees in the gallery they’ve entered. The colors are everywhere: red carpets, red curtains, gold statues, gold trimming, gold ceilings. Only a few of the oil lamps on the walls are lit, making the journey through the gallery easier. Tommy can see buckets of water sitting in corners, the safety measure in case the theater caught fire. This is the area less wealthy opera goers gathered to discuss what they’ve seen. This audience could be harsh, and could make or break a singer. Tommy hopes they will hear in Adam what he heard. If they do, Adam’s career would soar. 

Isaac glides around the gallery in stops and starts, searching for the way to the stairs.

When he finds it, they quickly run to them and start to climb. Tommy is out of breath by the time they reach a landing that suits Isaac.

“Exactly where are we going?” Tommy asks, trying not to pant all over his friend. “Where are we going to be watching?”

“From one of the loggione,” he answers. “We want to be above the boxes. Not likely that anyone will notice us up there, but we still need to stay low.”

Tommy nods, a little nervous at hiding in the section where the opera afficionados have been known to boo performers right off the stage. 

He’s not superstitious, but he hopes being in that section before Adam’s debut there won’t bring Adam bad luck. Why the hell is he even concerned with Adam’s career? 

Isaac parts one of the curtains and motions for Tommy to follow him. Tommy wants to respond with “duh” since he’s been following Isaac since they left the conservatory. He steps through the curtain into a dark box. He hears voices below talking, humming. Looking out over the railing in front of him, he can only see the boxes curving around the theater. He sees no floor, just space filled by endless rows of boxes. He steps to the railing and peers over. It takes his breath away. They’re far up. Really far up. The drop below into the open platea is so great he feels dizzy. He takes a short breath, putting his hands on the rail to steady himself.

“You okay?” Isaac whispers. 

Tommy nods. He’s not okay. He hates heights. He didn’t expect them to be up so high or for the theater to even be so lofty. He really didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t this. The theater itself is overwhelming. Again, everything is red velvet and lined or trimmed in gold. It’s impressive, to say the least. There are massive iron chandeliers overhead, and looking up just makes him dizzier. There’s no seating on the platea below, just open floor space for those audience members who stand, mingle, conduct business trades and deals, even set up card tables. The opera is a very social occasion. And the performance is more or less secondary.

Tommy counts six tiers of boxes before he ventures to look down towards the stage itself. The stage is as massive as the theater, in Tommy’s opinion. Wide and deep, built of wooden planks, and great red curtains hanging on the sides from the ceiling to the floor. When Tommy sees Adam standing on the stage, his maestro next to him, all thoughts, noises, anxiety leave him. His focus is solely on Adam - what is he doing, what will he do next, does he see me, what will happen if he sees me? The other castrati are milling about the stage, talking to one another and their own maestros. Tommy can’t see Adam’s face, but judging by his stance, he is concentrating on what his maestro is telling him. Tommy stares. Adam straightens his posture, facing the invisible audience. Isaac tugs on Tommy’s shirt sleeve, and he crouches down next to his friend. They peer over the railing, only the tops of their heads visible to those on the stage, if anyone could even see that far. 

Adam’s maestro snaps his fingers in a rhythm, and then Adam’s voice picks up. It’s as wondrous to Tommy now as it was the other night. He’s almost sorry that he has to share this moment with Isaac, with anyone on that stage. Adam’s voice literally soars up and through the dome of the theater. 

“Holy shit,” Isaac comments. “That’s power.”

Tommy can only breathe and nod. He’s already mesmerized. He’s never heard anything so ethereal come from a human. 

“Maestro Verdi is a total ass, but he sure knows what he’s doing,” Isaac says. 

Tommy glances over at him, suddenly defensive of Adam. “Adam has more to do with it than the maestro.”

Isaac looks over at Tommy, but he doesn’t say anything. Tommy tears his eyes away from Adam and looks back at his friend.

“I’m guessing,” he stumbles. “I mean, it’s his voice.”

“Are you two friends?” Isaac asks. 

“No,” Tommy answers quickly. Probably too quickly since Isaac narrows his eyes. “I don’t know him at all.” And it’s true. So why does Tommy feel guilty? 

He looks back at Adam, now talking to his maestro again, and Isaac eventually turns his gaze back to the stage, too. Tommy absently starts chewing on his finger. Why does he feel like he’s hiding some dirty secret? So what if he happened upon Adam rehearsing one night? So what if Adam helped him in the library? So what if he jerked off to Adam’s face last night? He has nothing to be ashamed of. Except maybe that last one....

He’s disappointed when Adam leaves the stage. He even heaves a short sigh of frustration, making Isaac glance at him again. He goes back to chewing on his finger. When the next castrato takes center stage, Tommy sees Isaac smile. 

“Is that your friend?” he asks. 

Isaac nods. “Yeah, Sutan.”

“How long have you known each other?” Tommy’s curiosity is peaked. 

Without looking away as Sutan sings, Isaac answers. “Only about a year. He’s really nice. Kind of shy at times, but not a total asshole like most of the other castrati.”

“How did you start talking?” Tommy asks. 

Isaac takes so long to reply that Tommy thinks he’s never going to. 

“At one of those receiving functions at the conservatory,” Isaac says. “You just strike up a friendship the way any other friends do. Nothing special about it.”

“So it’s okay to be friends with them?” Tommy presses. He really wants to know if he can be friends with Adam in public. If Adam wants to, that is. 

“Well yeah. They’re not aliens,” Isaac answers with a laugh. He looks back at Tommy, his expression serious. “Listen Tommy, some people get weird about castrati. They don’t see them as men or even human. And those that are friends with them, if they’re not from the right social class, can get a lot of grief. If you’re going to be friends with Adam, you have to remember that and be prepared for it.”

“With Adam?” Tommy starts to deny any association with the singer, but Isaac cuts him off.

“Okay, okay, with any of them,” he says, giving Tommy an impatient eye roll. “High society loves them. Being able to buy their talent is a status symbol for them. Our society, our class level sees them as crimes against nature. It’s fine when they’re on stage and monopolized by the wealthy, but to mingle with them... it could get ugly, Tommy. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Not at all, and Tommy says so. 

“Look, maybe we should go,” Isaac suggests, glancing back at the stage. “They’ll be here all day and we have things to do. You have that paper to write.”

Tommy just nods in agreement, still trying to mentally sort out what Isaac just told him. He doesn’t understand any of it. Crimes against nature? Why? Not human or men? What does that mean? 

They slip out of the theater, pretty much tracking back the way they came. As they make their way back through the gallery, Tommy notices in the dim light that there are gold carvings in the walls. Tommy can be distracted by shiny objects as much as the next person, and he pauses without thinking and wanders over to take a look. He doesn’t notice that Isaac has gone on, unknowingly leaving him behind. 

Oh shit, he thinks when he finally realizes Isaac’s not there. How is he going to find his way out now? He can’t get caught here. It’s not like he’ll be expelled from the conservatory, but there would be punishment. He tries to visualize the direction they’d come in and he starts toward the doorway, running straight into Adam. 

“Lost?” Adam says with a slight grin.

Tommy backs up. “Fuck, please don’t tell Maestro. I just ... wanted... I’m sorry. Please don’t tell.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone,” Adam says. “But I thought you might have trouble finding your way out of here, so I came looking for you.”

“How?” Tommy asks. He’s shocked. How did Adam know he was here?

Adam chuckles, and Tommy’s knees go weak. “You’re not very good at hiding. I saw you in the loggione just before you ducked down. Next time you sneak in, don’t walk in standing straight up.” 

Tommy can’t help but laugh at himself, which makes Adam smile wider. Tommy is delighted to see that his face really does light up when he smiles.

“I was just curious,” Tommy says. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Yes you did,” Adam tells him, still smiling, and Tommy’s amazed at how relaxed he seems. “I’m flattered, though.”

Tommy doesn’t want this conversation to end. He cocks his head and says, “How do you know I’m here to see you?”

Thankfully, Adam recognizes good humor. He crosses his arms. “Aren’t you?”

Tommy’s answer borders on adoring. “Yes.”

The lightheartedness is suddenly replaced by something akin to sudden attraction. It makes Tommy nervous. His stomach flutters as thoughts of last night alone in his bed come to mind. He’s looking right at the face he imagined. Shit, he doesn’t need to pop a boner right now.

Adam swallows, and his voice is rough. “Come on, I’ll show you how to get out.”

Tommy nods and follows. As Adam walks him to a side door, Tommy remembers what Isaac said about castrati. He wonders if there’s anything in the music library about them that might help him make sense of what Isaac told him. Clearly, everyone but him knows something he doesn’t.

 

“Castrato is a male singer who has been castrated, the testicles removed to prevent the voice from going through puberty and changing. Although illegal, castration is done on male children between ages 7 and 9. Many Italian families give their sons over to castration in hopes they will make a vast amount of wealth as opera singers. Often times, a village barber is called on to do the operation, rather than a surgeon, particularly in poor areas. Since the operation is illegal for operatic purposes, numerous excuses concerning injuries to the groin area are given as to why castration is warranted. As a result of the castration, the voice stays a pure soprano growing more and more powerful in adulthood. The crystal clarity is beyond reproach and cannot be mimicked by a singer that is not castrated.  
Since the castrato body avoids puberty, a castrato can end up being very tall, youthful in appearance, pale and smooth, hairless complexions, almost alien-like. While biologically they are male, they’re seen more or less as female since the testicles have been removed and they cannot produce children. They are viewed as unmanageable, like women, and need to be managed by men. They should not influence children or the young who have not been cut. Their ambiguity makes them sexually attractive, particularly to women.  
Castrati dominate the opera, especially in Italy. They are widely sought after and paid greatly for their talent. The great castrati, like Farinelli, who can sing over three octaves, are worshiped like gods by high society. However, in some cases, the voice can break in adulthood, even with the operation at an early age. These castrati are discarded from the opera, and, in the best instances, are relegated to church choirs.”

Tommy can feel himself blanche at the words he read. He sits back and mentally digests words like mutilation, alien, crime, beautiful, sexual, angels. One castrato came to Italy only to be met with the insult that hearing a eunuch sing was like listening to cats squalling. And then there are those who revere castrati as angelic, paying large sums of money for a few songs. They can cause hysteria in people no matter the opinions. 

Tommy’s blood runs cold at the thought of Adam’s parents handing him over to be butchered for music. He feels out of breath, as well as horrified. And sad. So sad for Adam that this was done to him at such a young age. He had no say in what was happening. Tommy feels grief for the little boy put under a knife by the very people he trusted to take care of him. And all for money. No wonder Adam was angry all the time. 

Tommy is so deep in thought he doesn’t register that someone is walking past his table in the library. His brow furrowed, still half in thought, he looks up. It takes him a minute to recognize Adam passing by, slowing down. When he does, it’s too late. Adam’s seen the book he’s reading and the horrified expression on Tommy’s face. Tommy opens his mouth to say something, he has no idea what, when Adam’s features harden and he turns away. As he walks away, Tommy wants to go after him so badly it hurts. But he has no idea what to say. He closes the book. He’d wanted to read over the art of composing music some more, but he can’t possibly concentrate now. He feels sick from what he’s learned, so he decides to give up for the night and go to bed. 

On his way back to his room, Tommy makes a snap decision to check the practice rooms to see if Adam is in one. He has no clue what to say to Adam, but he can’t let their earlier encounter at the theater be marred. He realizes that he wants a relationship with Adam, and he can’t let their shaky start be for nothing. It slams into him that he’ll settle for friendship but he just might be yearning for something more. Adam is special. And Tommy is very much attracted to him. It startles him and makes him ridiculously desperate as he searches each practice room. 

He does find Adam in one of the rooms, and it almost makes him faint. Adam is sitting on a divan in front of the fireplace. He’s watching the flames dance, a look of concentration on his face. Tommy wonders what he’s thinking. 

Don’t be scared, he tells himself. Just go in, say something, say anything. Just don’t let him slip away. 

Adam doesn’t look up until Tommy is standing in front of him. His vulnerability is quickly replaced by coldness. 

Protection, Tommy realizes. That’s how he guards himself. 

“What is it?” Adam asks abruptly. 

Tommy still has no clue what to say. He would gladly say the first stupid thing that pops into his mind if only something would pop in. 

Adam looks up and gives him a chilly smile. 

“I thought you already knew what I am,” he says flatly. “And you were being friendly despite it. I thought wrong.” 

Adam looks back at the fire. “Or maybe you’re like all those high society snobs that just want to use me to make some ludicrous status statement.” 

“That makes no sense, Adam,” he replies. “What on earth do I have to gain except a friend?” 

Adam smirks at the fire. 

“Well then, you didn’t know what I am and now that you do, you must be disgusted,” Adam concludes.

“I don’t care what you think you are,” Tommy says. “What society thinks you are. You’re a human being to me. Not some status symbol, not some pawn, or freak of nature.”

“Oh good, you’re quoting the text you read,” Adam quips. 

“Oh fuck that,” Tommy snaps, and Adam looks up at him in surprise. “Stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself. You’re not the only one in this world who’s been hurt or betrayed or lost something. You’ve closed yourself off from so many people who are using you that you can’t even recognize the ones who are genuine friends.”

“And are you a genuine friend, Tommy?” Adam asks without sarcasm. 

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. 

Adam stares at him, and like that first night at the reception party, he’s searching inside Tommy. He can feel Adam’s scrutiny crawling through him, but he doesn’t flinch. Adam won’t find anything false in him.

“I believe you,” Adam says quietly. 

Tommy kneels in front of Adam. He’s surprised to find himself on his knees, but he’s letting instinct take over.

“It doesn’t matter to me what you are or think you are or what they think you are,” he says. “I want...” 

“You want what, Tommy?” Adam asks. 

He consciously has no idea what he wants, but when Adam leans forward slightly, Tommy raises up, pressing his lips to Adam’s. He’s shocked that he had the balls to do that and fervently prays Adam doesn’t belt him. Then he realizes Adam’s lips have taken over his own. Oh god, they’re as soft and firm as he imagined. Tommy leans into Adam, who grips the back of Tommy’s neck. When Adam’s tongue touches his lips, Tommy immediately opens his mouth. Warmth spreads through his groin as Adam deepens the kiss, tightening his hold on Tommy. Adam pulls him up onto his lap, and Tommy wraps his arms around him, willing Adam to take over him. 

Adam turns him and lays him down on the divan and settles on top of him. Tommy’s instantly hard and he can feel Adam growing against him. He moves his hips, pushing up, and Adam instantly pushes down against him, sighing into Tommy’s mouth. Tommy shifts his leg off the side of the divan, settling Adam in between his legs. Adam’s hips begin a rhythmic push against Tommy, their hard cocks sliding against each other. Tommy has never been with anyone, male or female, and right now he’s running on desire and need. 

His groin aches as Adam pushes against him. He needs more. He grabs Adam’s ass and pushes harder against him. Adam groans, speeding up his thrusts, gripping Tommy’s hips to keep their cocks lined up. Tommy licks Adam’s mouth, and Adam attacks him with desperation. The heat building in Tommy is frantic, the need for release screaming within him. He tries moving in time with Adam, pulsing up when Adam is grinding down, moving in the opposite direction, making the drag against each other longer, harder, so much sweeter. The friction against the head of Tommy’s cock finally explodes and he comes with a long moan in Adam’s mouth, wet heat spreading in his pants. It’s the sweetest throbbing he’s ever experienced. His body locks against Adam, rigid, and that pushes Adam over the edge with an almost musical whimper. 

Coming down, Adam buries his face in Tommy’s neck. He’s still tightly gripping Tommy as though letting go means everything is over. Tommy rubs his back, squeezing him in an awkward hug. 

“You should let your guard down more often,” Tommy comments.

Adam huffs out a laugh against his neck. He lifts his head to look at Tommy. This is the first time Tommy’s been able to look deeply into Adam’s eyes. The blue, the intensity, the depth all sweep over him and Tommy finds himself drowning in those eyes. He has no idea what this incident means, or what will happen with them. But for right now, he’s content. He feels wanted and appreciated. He finally feels connected with someone. He hopes Adam does too. Tomorrow will come, but not for a while.


	5. Just Find Your Place in the Eye of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things progress and slow down.   
> (yeah you already know I suck at summaries ;)

Tommy leans over his broom to pick up a sheet of music paper that’s fallen to the floor and feels a slap on his ass. He straightens up and looks behind him at a grinning Adam waltzing by into the practice room. 

“Watch the hands, signore,” he jokes. “I’m on the clock.” 

Adam stops in front of the bookcase. After selecting a book, he plants himself on the divan by the cold fireplace, stretching his long body out, and making a show of it for Tommy’s benefit. 

Tease, Tommy thinks with a smile. 

They’ve been in this routine for over a week now. Adam showing up in the evenings when Tommy cleans the music rooms, and following him to each room. Sometimes Adam helps straighten up. Mostly he wanders around the rooms, propping himself next to whatever Tommy’s cleaning and trying to be a distraction. He doesn’t have to try very hard. It takes Tommy a lot longer to straighten these rooms now, and he doesn’t get to bed before midnight, which is fine by him. This is the only time they get to spend with each other. Tommy would rather be with Adam than sleep anyway.

Tommy watches Adam open the book and start reading. Or pretend to read. 

“You know, you don’t have to stay up while I do this,” Tommy says. But he’s really glad Adam does it. 

Adam has been the only thing he’s been capable of thinking about from the time he wakes up until he sleeps, and even then he dreams about the dark haired power singer. He knows he’s becoming obsessed, but he doesn’t care. He can’t envision life without Adam now. They never defined their relationship or what happened that night on the divan, but they’ve fallen into a comfortable flow which really needs no defining. And that is okay with Tommy. Stolen hours at night, comfortable silence, relaxed jokes, consuming kisses and touches. Yeah, Tommy is definitely the happiest he’s ever been since coming here.

Adam gives him a side glance. “What makes you think I’m here for you? I’m really enjoying this book.”

Tommy stops his sweeping and lifts an eyebrow at Adam. “Really?”

Adam nods. “Absolutely. This book...” He turns the book over so he can read the title on the spine. “'Guide to Polishing Brass and Metal' is fascinating. I’ve been waiting all day to read this.” 

“Oh please,” Tommy replies. “You’re here to haunt my every step and you know it.”

Adam snorts. 

“And don’t throw that book on the floor either,” he scolds. “You put it back where you got it when you’re finished knowing all there is to know about polishing metal.”

Tommy loves that he can talk to Adam like this now, banter back and forth, and see that gorgeous smile, those eyes gleaming with mischief. 

Adam smirks, closes the book, and tosses it on the floor. 

“Or you’ll what?” he challenges. 

Tommy knows this is his cue to put down whatever he’s doing and join Adam on the divan. He leans the broom against the back of a chair and saunters over, kicking the book out of the way. Adam’s eyes grow dark, making Tommy’s breath hitch. He climbs onto Adam’s lap and leans down. Adam’s already pulling Tommy to his mouth, and Tommy willingly opens for him. He lets his body melt into Adam’s embrace. He’s so warm and strong, and all Tommy wants is to be overtaken by him. He always thought his first time would be with a girl, but now all he wants is Adam.

Adam cards his fingers through Tommy’s hair, pulling the strands gently. Tommy pushes his hips into Adam’s, feeling them both starting to harden. Adam grips a little tighter, and Tommy kisses just a little harder. He can’t help but smile around Adam’s mouth. 

“What?” Adam asks, pulling back with a smile.

Tommy shakes his head slightly. “Nothing.” He dips his head, blushing.

Adam tilts Tommy’s head up with a finger under his chin, amusement on his face.

Tommy blushes harder. “I’m just... I didn’t think I’d be this happy. Ever. And not with a guy either.”

Adam’s amusement falls. 

“What do you mean, not with a guy?” he asks. 

Suddenly Tommy feels anxious, like he’s said something wrong.

“You’ve never been with a guy before?” Adam asks. 

Tommy afraid to speak, so he shakes his head. 

Adam sits up, pushing Tommy gently off his lap and onto the divan. 

“I didn’t realize,” he starts. “Have you been with girls?”

Tommy looks down and shakes his head. 

I’m sorry,” he mutters. 

“For what?” Adam asks. 

“That I’m not experienced for you,” Tommy answers.

“No, amore,” Adam says. “It’s not that. I thought you’d always preferred guys. But you’ve not been with a girl. How do you know guys are what you want?”

“Does that matter?” Tommy asks. “I want you. I know that.”

Adam smiles slightly, almost sadly. “But you’ve nothing to compare me to. Or what we’re doing, you’ve nothing to compare it to. How do you know?”

Tommy’s heart thuds. Is Adam turning him away? 

“What are you saying?” he asks, and he can’t hide the panic in his voice.

“Do you like girls?” Adam asks. “Did you like girls before I showed up? Be honest. 

Tommy begins to fidget. He doesn’t like where this is going, but he doesn’t want to lie to Adam.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “But, I mean, it doesn’t matter. I like you now.”

“Il mio amore, it does matter,” Adam tells him. “I don’t want you to come into this without knowing what you’re getting into or giving up.”

“What does that mean?” Tommy almost shouts. He can’t lose Adam. 

Adam cups his face. “Tommy, there are so many things I cannot give you. Ever.”

“Like what?” he snaps.

“Children, for one thing,” Adam replies. 

Tommy feels his heart drop. He’s never thought of that. He’s never thought of having children. 

“I don’t want children,” he says stubbornly.

“You don’t know that, Tommy,” Adam says with a sigh. “You’ve never been with a girl. You don’t know what you’re giving up. Having a normal relationship with a complete person.”

Tommy can tell it pains Adam to say that last part. Complete person. 

“I want you,” he says meekly. He hates the tears coming into his eyes. He hates what Adam is saying. He hates he even opened his mouth at all and said he’d never been with a girl.

“You’re going to give up marriage and children and family to be with a castrato?” Adam asks with incredulity. “What if my voice gives out? It’s a possibility. What then? What will make me attractive to you then?”

“I can’t believe that you think your voice is all I care about,” Tommy says angrily. 

“Tommy, maybe you need to be with a woman before you decide what you really want,” Adam says. It hurts him to say it, and Tommy can see him already pulling away. 

“No,” he replies. “I will not. I don’t need to be with a woman or a man or anyone else to know I want you. You! Why is that so fucking hard to understand?” 

Adam looks at him, the emotion flaring in his eyes. Tommy’s face is burning with fear and anger. He will not let Adam get away that easily. 

“I don’t want you to be hurt in the long run,” Adam tells him. “By things you deserve and will never have by being with me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re hurting me right now,” Tommy retorts. “So that’s your solution?”

Adam grimaces, shakes his head, and looks down at his lap. He suddenly looks very weary, his face flushed and almost damp. 

“Adam, are you okay?” Tommy asks. The sudden change in his complexion brings back memories of his family sick with The Fever. 

Adam waves a hand at him. “Of course, I’m okay, amore. I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“You should probably go to bed,” Tommy says. “And no more talk of this girl nonsense. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Adam chuckles, and Tommy’s heart warms. “Of course not, my love. I don’t want to be rid of you, ever. I just don’t want you to think your opportunities are over.”

“I’ll hear no more of that,” Tommy states, inwardly rejoicing that Adam is calling him his love. He stands, pulling Adam with him. “You need to go to bed.”

Adam nods, his face growing pale upon standing. “Yes. Walk me to my room.”

They make it to Adam’s room on the top floor, the floor that houses all the castrati. The top floor is warmest, most comfortable, which the singers need. Protecting their throats, their chests, their voices is top priority at a conservatory. If Adam is getting sick, it could be bad news for his voice. Tommy has no idea how the maestro handles sick castrati. Should he wake Maestro Durante and tell him Adam’s not well? He doesn’t want to come off as worrisome, though. And no one knows that he and Adam even know each other. And Adam could be just fine tomorrow after he sleeps. 

Tommy guides a now swaying Adam to his bed and sits him down on the edge. The fire at the foot of it is lit, the coals glowing, keeping the bed, which is already turned down, warm. Tommy kneels down and pulls off Adam’s boots, while Adam takes off his shirt. Tommy sets the boots to the side, folds the discarded shirt and places it at the end of the bed. He wishes he could stop and appreciate Adam’s bare chest, but it’s probably not the best time. 

Adam gives him a bleary smile, and lays back. He doesn’t even bother to get under the covers, and Tommy leans over to pull them over him. Adam is already asleep. Tommy looks at him, feeling his heart swell. He leans down and kisses Adam’s forehead, whispering wishes for a restful night.

 

When Adam doesn’t show up in any of the music rooms the next night, Tommy’s worry is rocketing through the roof. He quickly straightens each room, probably not as well as he could have, and sneaks upstairs to the top floor. He hopes no one is in Adam’s room but Adam. How would he explain being there? 

He inches the door open. He can see Adam lying in bed, covered, the room lit by the fire. Tommy glances around the room, and seeing it empty of anyone else, he slips in, shutting the door behind him. He steps quietly to Adam’s bed. Adam is asleep, his face and hair damp with sweat, a sure sign of a fever. His breathing sounds congested. Tommy swallows, twisting his hands, not knowing what to do. He remembers The Fever that took his family and nearly his entire village. He remembers too well the sweating, bouts of diarrhea, coughing, and headaches. His father had rosy spots on his lower chest which grew redder with his violent coughing. His mother had fits of outbursts, delusions toward the end. She would shout at people that weren’t there, kids she thought were playing games in the kitchen. Tommy had come down with profuse sweating, headaches, and coughing, but he’d managed to fight off the rest, and only God knew how or why. His parents died in a painful and ugly manner. But he lived, to come here. And he cannot lose anyone else that way. 

He wants to see Adam’s eyes, hear his voice, talk to him, comfort him, but he refrains from waking him. Adam needs to rest. He may be under direction not to even speak until this illness passes, God willing. 

Tommy watches him a little longer, noting how small he looks, sick and buried under blankets. He supposes he should leave. He can always come back tomorrow night. Maybe Adam will be awake then. Maybe he’ll be better. Tommy leans down and kisses Adam’s forehead, then quietly leaves. 

When he comes back the next night, Adam is asleep, so he decides to sit next to the bed a while, just to be near him. It would make Tommy feel better, anyway. As he pulls a chair closer and sits down, Adam stirs. He opens his eyes, smiling weakly when he sees Tommy. He holds out his hand, and Tommy grasps it, kissing the fingers. 

“I’m sorry I’ve missed our nightly hours in the music rooms,” Adam tells him. His breathing is labored, his voice scratchy. 

“It has been a little boring without you,” Tommy says with a smile. “Quicker getting the job done, but boring.”

Adam tries to reply but a fit of coughing overtakes him. He rolls onto his side, and Tommy helplessly rubs his back. The rattle of fluid in his lungs that his body is trying to expel makes Tommy cringe. When it’s over, Adam looks wiped out, as though he may not be able to keep his eyes open much longer. The illness is definitely sapping his strength. 

He squeezes Tommy’s hand. “Don’t be scared. It’s just an infection. It’ll go away.”

Tommy can’t help but be scared. People died from infections all the time. He knew Maestro Durante would see to it that Adam has the best care, the best tonics, powders, whatever is needed to make him well. But it’s little comfort to Tommy, who can do nothing but watch and wait and worry. He just squeezes Adam’s hand, trying not to think about watching his family die. 

“Tommy,” Adam begins, and he pauses, then looks at the water pitcher and cup on the table. Tommy immediately rises and pours him water, bringing the cup over. He perches on the edge of the bed next to Adam and helps him sit up enough to drink with Tommy holding the cup to his mouth. Adam rests his head against Tommy’s chest, and Tommy can feel the heat pouring off his body. 

“Tommy,” he begins again. “I want you to do something.”

“Anything for you,” Tommy replies. 

It takes a while for Adam to speak again, and Tommy thinks he’s fallen asleep. When Adam tells him what he wants, Tommy wishes Adam had just fallen asleep. 

“I want you to find a nice girl to date,” Adam wheezes. “Just listen,” he says when Tommy’s body becomes tense. “You have not experienced yet what you should. You can’t make any kind of decision until you know what you’re giving up.”

“I’m not giving you up,” Tommy states. 

“Okay,” Adam says. “That’s fine. But you need to do this first. You may find you want to be with girls, Tommy. You liked girls before I came here. You don’t just turn that off.”

“What’s wrong with liking both?” Tommy asks, his heart fluttering with panic. “And being with you?”

‘Nothing,” Adam replies. “But you haven’t been with either, really. I need you to figure that out before this goes further. I need that, Tommy. I don’t want to always wonder if I’m taking a full life away from you.”

“I can’t do it, Adam,” he says, his voice shaking. 

“Please,” Adam pleads. “I need to be reassured that you know what you’re giving up.”

Tommy swallows. “The fever makes you delirious.”

“I can’t force you,” Adam says. “And I won’t, but it would be better for you. You could have a real family one day. I can’t take that from you.”

Tommy doesn’t reply. He’s said no over and over, yet Adam keeps asking. He doesn’t know what this means for them, or him. Has he lost Adam? He doesn’t want Adam always second guessing their relationship either. Do they even have a relationship? What does he do?

Adam attempts a deep breath and sits up all the way, coughing up the fluid trapped in his chest. Tommy grabs the towel next to the bed, placing it at Adam’s mouth as he spits out a glob of thick fluid. When it’s over, Adam flops back down, clearly exhausted. Tommy gently wipes his face with an end of the towel. Adam looks at him, such sadness in his eyes, and Tommy can’t stand it. 

“You’ve talked enough tonight,” he says, standing. “I should let you rest.”

Adam nods, his eyelids drooping already. Tommy touches his face and kisses his fingers. Adam is already slipping into sleep as Tommy gently lays his hand down, and leaves the room. He pauses outside the door to gather himself. He feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He understands what Adam’s saying, but he doesn’t know where they stand now. Tommy’s never been in love, but he’s pretty certain he’s on his way, if not there already. He wants to be with Adam, but would he be okay with Adam always wondering if Tommy was missing out? He has no idea what to do. 

 

A polite coughing behind him breaks Tommy out of his daydream. His mind has drifted off again while sweeping one of the music rooms. He’s spent the past two evenings drifting from room to room, going through the motion of his duties in robotic fashion, his mind furiously trying to work out his dilemma. He could lie to Adam, say he found a girl while Adam was sick, maybe kissed her, and it just wasn’t for him, so he was all Adam’s. But he didn’t relish the thought of starting anything with Adam on a lie. That couldn’t be a good starting point. He could just find a girl, actually kiss her, get it over with, then go back to Adam. Would that make Adam happy? Would he be satisfied? But what if Tommy actually liked the girl...

He turns in the direction of the cough, which was more like a throat clearing than an actual cough, and sees Maestro Verdi standing in the doorway. 

Shit, he thinks. Adam’s maestro. Something must be wrong with Adam. 

“Signore,” Verdi begins.

“Is Adam okay?” Tommy interrupts. 

“Si. He is doing better,” Verdi answers. “But that is not why I’m here.”

Tommy didn’t realize he’d been holding a breath until Verdi said Adam was better, and he releases it in a heavy rush. He feels weak with relief, thinking of possibly going up to see Adam after he’s finished with the music rooms. He’s avoided going back to Adam’s room these past two nights because he couldn’t bear to hear Adam tell him again to date a girl. Besides, Adam needed rest. But since he’s doing better, Tommy will see him and hopefully all that talk of girls was just the sickness, and they’ll laugh at how crazy it all sounded. Tommy is already inwardly rejoicing that he misses most of what Maestro Verdi is saying to him.

“So you must stay away from him,” Verdi finishes. 

Tommy’s mind comes back into the room, and he stares blankly at Verdi. 

“From who?” he asks. 

“Adam,” Verdi states. 

“What?” Tommy feels dread shoot down his spine in sharp waves. How did Verdi even know he’s been seeing Adam? And why can’t he?

“Signore,” Verdi begins again, and Tommy can see his patience is gone. “You may not see Adam anymore. No more! I forbid it. You are likely the one who made him so sick in the first place. You’re an orphan, you dwell in the bottom of this conservatory. That is where rats and other vermin dwell, signore. Not castrati. Not my castrato. I forbid him to be subjected to these conditions any longer. He is not to be in these music rooms after hours anymore. Or in the library. You must stay away from there as well. You are not of this social class.”

“I’m not hurting him,” Tommy squeaks in shock. “I didn’t make him sick!”

“It is a possibility,” Verdi says. “The doctor said as much. Stay away from him. You are not on the same path. His path is one of great singing, to be adored, to be famous, rich, loved. You are a distraction, signore. A nobody. You will only bring him down.”

His words hit Tommy like sharp arrows in his heart. He’s near tears. He doesn’t want to hurt Adam. He doesn’t want to bring Adam down or ruin his future. 

“You’re a waif who will bring him ruin,” Verdi says. “You will ruin his voice! Already the late nights in here with you have hurt his practices, his voice register, and I shudder to think what the illness has done to it.”

His judgement pours over Tommy, coating and sticking to him like black tar, and Tommy looks at the floor. He has no words. He can’t even process what this man is saying, let alone what this means. 

“Enough,” Maestro Durante’s voice is sharp with anger behind Verdi. 

Verdi turns. “The boy needs to be put in place, Maestro. He is too familiar with my castrato, I won’t have it! I won’t have the influence!”

“Basta!” Durante shouts. “Enough, I said! Leave Tommy alone. He is my affair, not yours, Maestro.”

“I will pull Adam out of this conservatory,” Verdi threatens. 

“That will be all for tonight,” Durante replies calmly but with finality. 

Tommy sees Verdi is swallowing his retort in the face of higher ranking maestro, whose glare at him is made of steel. He jerks his head in a nod, and leaves the room. 

Durante turns back to Tommy, his face softening. 

“Please put that ugliness out of your mind, my child,” he says.

“Did I make Adam sick?” he asks, wiping away his tears. “Am I ruining him?”

Maestro Durante flicks a hand. “Heaven’s no. Maestro Verdi insists on controlling everything. He gets wound even tighter when he can’t, and he couldn’t control Adam’s illness or what Adam does after hours.”

“How did he know?” Tommy asks. He figures Durante must know since Verdi knows that he and Adam have been in each others company lately.

“He’s seen Adam follow you from music room to music room a couple of nights,” Durante replies. “It’s not a big deal, but, like I said, Maestro Verdi loves control.” 

Tommy just nods. Durante gently lays his hands on Tommy’s shoulders, smiling down at him. It’s a fatherly smile, and Tommy suddenly aches for his own father. 

“I believe you’re finished with the rooms for tonight,” Durante says.

“Oh, but I’m not,” Tommy replies. “I haven’t really started this one, and there’s...”

“Not tonight,” Durante tells him. “It’ll wait. You should go rest now. Take comfort, your friend is better. Pay no attention to Maestro Verdi. I’m sure you will see Adam in due time once he’s stronger and up and about.”

Durante takes the broom from Tommy. “Off to bed with you now, child.”

Tommy smiles as best as he can, grateful for Durante’s compassion. But when he gets down to his room - the bottom level - all he’ll be able to do is reply this ugly scene with Verdi in his mind all night long until he’s physically sick over it. Maybe Adam’s right. Maybe he should find a girl to be with instead.


	6. Walk This Way to the Dawn of the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy finds a girl and makes a choice.

Tommy hesitates outside the tavern as Isaac walks in. It was Isaac’s idea to come here. Neither has ever been to a tavern, nor have they ever drank. It’s not like they have money and freedom to wander the city at will and do things most normal people do. But Isaac’s benefactor sent him some extra money this month for his birthday, and Isaac wants to spend it here. And he wants Tommy to join him. Actually, despite his apprehension, Tommy welcomes the distraction. It’s been three days since Verdi railed at him. Tommy couldn’t bring himself to go see Adam after that, figuring Adam was better off without him, especially if any of what Verdi claimed was true. Adam hasn’t shown up again in the music rooms either, but he’s probably still getting over that awful sickness. That’s what Tommy’s been telling himself, anyway. 

“Are you coming?” Isaac asks, walking back outside.

Tommy realizes he’s been standing out here on the sidewalk, just gazing into space. He nods and follows his friend inside. 

The tavern is small, dim, and loud. There are so many people in this tiny building that Tommy feels uncomfortable, like there’s no air for him to breathe because everyone else is sucking it up, hogging it, and it’s going to run out, then he’ll die, my god they’re going to suffocate him... 

“I found a table over there,” Isaac steers Tommy by his shoulders towards a small, rickety table on the far side of the room. 

Tommy looks at it like a lifeline, a barrier between him and the rest of this room, and practically runs to it. He sits down, back to the wall, putting the table between him and everyone else, and he feels his panic subside. He’s never liked crowds that much. He’s not that social, so it’s never been a problem, but if all taverns are like this one, he might have to just drink alone from now on. If he takes up drinking, that is, and from the way this week has gone it might not be a bad idea. 

A girl in a ruffled skirt and loose blouse approaches them.

“You old enough to drink?” she asks. 

“Signora,” Isaac smiles up at her. “If I can shave, I can drink.”

“Fine,” she states flatly. “What do you want?”

“Porter,” he says confidently. 

She looks at Tommy. He has no clue what to order, so he just nods and says he’ll have the same. 

“So what’s with you,” Isaac asks, his expression switching from devil-may-care to serious in a split second. 

“What do you mean?” Tommy asks. 

“I mean, you’ve been moping around for days,” he replies. “You’ve always got this glazed look on your face like you’re not even on the planet. Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“Nothing,” Tommy says, knowing Isaac won’t let it go at that.

“Bullshit,” Isaac replies. “We’re friends, Tommy. I know we don’t usually have heavy discussions or anything, but if there’s something bothering you, you can talk to me. I’ll try to help.”

Tommy gives him a slight smile. He’s grateful, but he’s not in the mood to talk about Adam. 

“Let’s just have fun,” he tells Isaac. “I promise not to brood, okay?”

Their drinks are set in front of them, and Isaac holds up his bottle.

“Promise?” he asks.

Tommy raises his. “Promise.”

Isaac clinks Tommy’s bottle, then takes a long swallow. He grimaces. 

“Drink up,” Isaac tells him.

“I don’t want to drink it if it tastes like shit,” Tommy grins. 

“Drink it,” Isaac orders with a laugh. 

Tommy pours the porter into his mouth and swallows. It’s cold and it’s bitter. He wrinkles his nose at Isaac. The unspoken question between them is - People pay to drink this swill? They both laugh, and Tommy feels the darkness that’s settled over his heart lift some, so he drinks more. When the bottle’s empty, he’s feeling a tingle in his toes and he can’t stop grinning. And he wants more. He doesn’t want to lose this feeling; it’s the best he’s felt all week. 

Isaac motions to the barkeep, then stands up, shouting out a hearty greeting. 

“Signori!” Glory sashays to their table. “Who let you two out?”

“We snuck out,” Isaac tells her. It’s sort of true. They’re not supposed to be out of the conservatory at this hour, but they just walked out the front door. 

Tommy notices three rather large men crowding up behind Glory. 

“Perdonatemi,” she says. “Pardon me. These are friends of mine.”

She introduces the three hulks with her, and Tommy promptly forgets their names. He wonders if one of them is her boyfriend. Maybe all three? 

Two more bottles of porter are set down on the table, and Tommy eagerly picks his up and guzzles. 

“Ah,” Glory claps her hands with glee. “You must sit with us. Come. We’ll get a table in the back.”

She grabs Tommy’s arm, looking straight into his eyes, smiling, and Tommy feels his stomach flutter. She’s looking at him! She pulls him out of the chair, and he follows, completely unsure of where she could be taking him. Her three brutes have cleared a table, and they all sit down, Glory planting Tommy in the chair next to her. She leans over, her hand clutching his shoulder, her breasts just grazing his arm. Tommy feels a flush creeping up his neck, and he’s not sure if it’s from the porter or her. 

“No, you must try this new wine,” she tells him. “It’s all the rage now. It’s better than that nasty porter. Say yes.”

“Yes,” Tommy responds. 

He downs the rest of the porter in two heavy gulps, Glory’s brutes and Isaac laughing. The tingle that was in Tommy’s toes has worked it’s way up to his chest. He wonders how much more it will take before it’s all the way up his head and possibly shooting out of his hair. The thought makes him snicker loudly. 

When the bottle is set in front of him, Tommy asks Glory, in fact he leans far over to do so, what’s in it. 

“Vermouth,” she replies. 

“What’s that,” he asks, staring down at her chest, not even trying to be inconspicuous. 

Glory laughs at him. “An apertif wine. It’s new. Sweet. Taste it.”

Tommy takes a gulp. It’s sweet, yet a little bitter. Spicy. He can taste the herbs in it, and he likes it. Glory is giggling beside him, tugging his ear, and he laughs with her. He hasn’t felt this free in ages. If ever. 

Isaac is joking and laughing and drinking with Glory’s brutes, she’s giggling, flirting, whispering in his ear, and Tommy has a fleeting moment of dread. 

All of this is false, he thinks. I don’t want it. He pushes the thought away with another drink. 

 

Isaac and Glory balance Tommy as they sneak into the conservatory by way of the servants’ entrance. Glory has a key for that door, and Tommy and Isaac have stayed out way past curfew. Isaac isn’t nearly as drunk as Tommy, and Glory doesn’t seem drunk at all. But drinking killed Tommy’s woes, so he kept on until the barkeep refused to serve them anymore. 

“Come on Tommy,” Isaac whispers, once they’ve passed through the dark dining room. “You can sleep in my room tonight.”

“I wanna sleep in Glory’s room,” Tommy states without thinking. 

Glory stifles a flirtatious giggle, shushing Tommy for being naughty. 

“You can’t sleep in her room,” Isaac tells him. “Come on.”

“Yes, he can,” she says. 

“You’re not serious,” Isaac replies, a grin spreading on his face. “No way.”

“Si,” she says. “I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

“Tommy?” Isaac looks at him for approval.

“Goodnight, friend,” Tommy slurs. 

Isaac slaps Tommy on the shoulder and bids them goodnight. Glory leads Tommy down the hall a short distance from the dining room. 

“Mio caro,” she says. “Are you ready?”

Tommy snickers. He has no idea what she’s talking about. He’s about to reply with something he’s sure is witty when she presses her lips to his. The kiss surprises him and he’s not sure what to do. He moves his lips and hopes he’s kissing her back. He used to daydream about kissing her, and now that he is it feels... flat. She pulls away, smiling at him like she’s going to eat him, and turns to unlock her bedroom door. Tommy suddenly feels disoriented. What the fuck is he about to do? He glances around, and sees someone at the end of the hall, going into the dining room. When his eyes focus, he’s horrified to see Adam, still disheveled from the illness, a look of utter despair on his face. He thinks he should call to Adam, but his throat closes, and then Glory pulls him into her room, shutting the door behind them. 

She slides her hands underneath his shirt, up his chest, and she attacks his mouth with hers. Tommy’s brain is still pushing through the alcohol haze. Glory unbuttons her dress, pulling the bodice down off her shoulders. When Tommy fails to react, she places his hands on her breasts, and nibbles his jaw, his neck, working her way down. Her hands start to undo his pants, and he realizes this isn’t what he wants. Not with her. 

“Wait,” he croaks. He drops his hands from her, and backs away. “Stop.”

Glory looks at him with confusion. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, suddenly feeling sober. “I really am, but... I can’t. I don’t want to.”

“What?” her disbelief quickly turns to anger. “What do you mean you don’t want to? You don’t want me? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Tommy takes another step back from her. She looks as though she might strike him any second. He guesses she rarely meets with rejection. 

“I... sorry. I can’t do this,” he stutters. 

She utters what he assumes are choice phrases in some other language, pulls her dress together to cover herself, and orders him to get the fuck out of her room. Tommy gladly leaves. The hallway feels much cooler than her room, and he takes a few deep breaths, hurrying away from her door. He doesn’t want to be caught there. Mostly he doesn’t want her to decide she has more to say, or has found something to hit him with and open the door again. 

Tommy hurries to his room, his stomach churning. He barely makes it to his room and the pot under his bed when he vomits. When he’s done, his body feels lighter and his head feels clearer. He strips off his clothing, throwing them into a corner, detesting the smell of the tavern and booze on them. He’s eager to be done with this night. He puts on clean clothes, takes care of the vile coating in his mouth, and sits on his bed. 

This is Adam’s fault, he reasons. He insisted that I go find a girl. I didn’t want to, but he made me do this. Well I hope he’s happy because I’m fucking miserable, and I made a fool of myself with her.

Tommy remembers Adam in the hall just before being dragged into Glory’s room. His heart speeds up. He can’t let Adam go through the night thinking that he’s with Glory. He sort of wants to just to be spiteful, but that’s childish and he really doesn’t want to hurt Adam. He’s still angry, though. This didn’t need to happen at all. 

Without even putting on shoes or socks, Tommy practically runs through the dark hallways and up the stairs to the upper level. He pauses outside Adam’s door to catch his breath and get his bearings. He wonders if Adam’s asleep. If he were in Adam’s shoes, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He opens the door without preamble. 

The smell of eucalyptus and lemon is strong, and Tommy guesses the doctor combined them to use as a decongestant. Adam is sitting on the floor surrounded by large pillows in front of the fire, a cup of tea, likely cold now, sitting to the side. He’s wrapped himself in a blanket. He stares into the fire, not even turning to see who’s barged in at this late hour. Tommy shuts the door behind him and walks across the cold floor. He picks up the full cup of tea and takes it to the fire, placing it on a log to reheat. He turns and faces Adam.

“Don’t ever make me do that again,” he says. 

Adam continues staring at the flames. “You still like girls.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement, heavy as though Adam is stating his own doom. 

“You agreed there was nothing wrong with liking both,” Tommy points out. 

“I did,” Adam nods. “Why aren’t you still down there with her?”

“I don’t want to be,” Tommy replies.

“Why not?” Adam’s voice is hoarse from coughing, but he still manages to sneer. “You kissed her. You went into her room. You didn’t fuck her, too?”

“No,” Tommy tells him. “I didn’t want to.”

“Why?” Adam asks, and the curiosity in the question is genuine. 

“Because she’s not what I want,” Tommy says.

Adam finally looks at Tommy. He can see the whites of Adam’s eyes are pink as though he’s been rubbing his eyes repeatedly. Or crying. Who would’ve thought the strong, stubborn castrato would cry over him? Fuck, Tommy meant to chew him a new one, but he can’t, not with that gorgeous face staring sadly yet hopefully at him. 

Tommy retrieves Adam’s tea from the fire and carefully hands it to him. Adam takes it, and Tommy sits in front of him.

“I haven’t changed my mind at all, despite what you think. This changed nothing,” he tells Adam. “You’re still who I want.”

Adam smiles slightly. He’s almost bashful. 

“Are you going to make everything this damn difficult?” he asks. 

“I’m pretty high maintenance,” Adam replies with a small chuckle.

His posture relaxes. He sets the tea down and unwraps the blanket enough so Tommy can slide in with him. Tommy folds himself into Adam, and they lay down on the pillows. Adam holds him for a while, stroking his arm, his hair, and Tommy relishes it. He’s been so miserable for days he’s forgotten what it’s like to feel comforted. He buries his face in Adam’s neck, breathing in deeply. 

He feels Adam’s lips on his neck, placing soft, lingering kisses up to his jaw line. He relaxes into it, moving closer to Adam. When Adam’s lips meet his, Tommy’s body reacts on its own. He presses into Adam, feeling alive wherever Adam is touching him, and he’s hard within seconds. He holds Adam’s hips to his, pressing upward as Adam’s tongue licks every crevice in his mouth. He flinches slightly when Adam’s hand reaches between them and grabs his cock. He’s never had another hand except his own on his dick, and it startles him. Adam pets him through his pants, making him harder, and his firm hold on Tommy chases away any nervousness. 

Tommy didn’t think he could get any harder until Adam’s hand slipped beneath his waistband and grips him bare. Skin to skin, hot and hard makes Tommy gasp. He moans, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head when Adam starts stroking him. His breathing becomes heavier, and Adam nibbles his jaw, his neck. Adam rubs over his balls, cupping them, massaging them, and Tommy can feel them tighten and ache. It occurs to him briefly that Adam is touching exactly what he himself is missing. Before Tommy can really think about that, Adam moves his hands back to his cock and steadily strokes it. 

Tommy moves his hips in time with Adam’s strokes, just enough to heighten what Adam’s doing. When Adam speeds up, Tommy’s back arches, moaning. Yeah, he’s given himself hand jobs, but it’s never felt this good. He clutches Adam’s upper arms, and he knows he’s digging his nails into the skin but he doesn’t care. Adam’s about to make him come and that’s the only thing Tommy’s focused on right now. His moans turn to whines, his brain focuses harder on the end, he’s can almost feel it happening, it’s inching closer. He moves his hips into Adam’s hand with short, sharp snaps. Just when Tommy thinks the end is never going to happen, Adam whispers in his ear.

“Come for me.”

Tommy’s body arches off the floor into Adam’s hand. He feels hot fluid shoot from his cock and spill onto his stomach. His voice is caught in his throat instead of shouting his ecstasy throughout the conservatory. When his body collapses back to the floor and he can breathe again, Tommy gazes up at Adam. It never would have felt this right with anyone else. Adam smiles and kisses him softly, and Tommy knows that he’s fallen hopelessly for the castrato now. He slides his arms around Adam and hugs him tight, afraid of what he’s feeling, yet excited that it’s finally falling into place. When he let’s go, Adam sits up, moving to get a towel to wipe off his hand and Tommy’s stomach. 

“Do you want...” Tommy asks, shy but wanting to reciprocate. “I can try...”

“No, amore,” Adam replies, tossing the towel away, and laying back down. “I’m pretty tired. Still not a hundred percent.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” He does look peaked. Tommy feels guilty now. He should’ve been thinking of Adam’s health, getting over his illness rather than getting off. 

“Don’t do that,” Adam says with a sly grin. “I meant to do that, so don’t feel bad. That was all for you.”

He kisses Tommy’s temple, and wraps himself around Tommy, releasing a deep, satisfied sigh. 

“Stay the night?” he asks. 

“Of course,” Tommy answers. He snuggles into Adam’s warmth, grateful and happy. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”


	7. Close Your Eyes and You Will Find the Passage Out of the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam tells Tommy what happened.

Tommy’s nose is firmly buried in a music composition book when he feels a foot rub against his calf. He looks across the table at Adam, who is copying a new aria for his debut at Teatro Alla Scala in two weeks. He’s been practicing extra hours to restrengthen his voice since his illness in hopes of keeping this debut. Adam doesn't look up, and the foot disappears from Tommy’s leg. Tommy smiles and goes back to his book. He slips off his shoe and waits a minute, then slides his foot up to Adam’s lap, pushing against his crotch. He keeps his head down in his book, but he keeps his eyes on Adam. It takes several strokes of his foot before Adam responds.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks, still writing.

Tommy tries not to smile. “What do you mean?”

“Your foot seems to have gone wayward,” Adam says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tommy claims.

“No?” Adam continues writing.

“No,” Tommy replies. 

They fall back into silence, each continuing with his own task, and Tommy continues rubbing Adam with his foot, just to be a smartass. But he really wouldn’t mind making out. It’s been a while since Adam’s hand job the night Tommy barged into his room. He rubs up and down Adam’s pants, his toes feeling out his cock. Adam’s face remains stoic, and Tommy almost laughs. He resolves to break Adam’s self control. He pushes his foot in a little more, and feels Adam harden somewhat. Encouraged, he puts his hip into it for a little more leverage and pressure. Without dropping his pen, Adam grabs Tommy’s foot with his other hand, and rubs his thumb over his toes. He continues copying his aria. 

Tommy has long forgotten his book, and he’s sort of envious of Adam’s ability to focus. His sole task now is to distract Adam. He can feel Adam’s cock expanding with each knead of his foot. It’s turning Tommy on, too. He looks around the dim library. There’s no one in here. The head of the library stepped out to get a drink, assured that Adam and Tommy weren’t going to suddenly steal books and hide them in their rooms or sell them on the streets. Besides, Adam and Tommy were sitting at a table in the back, not easily visible from the front. They’d see someone coming before that someone saw them sitting there. The idea gives Tommy a thrill, a little spark shoots though his midsection. He massages Adam more firmly. 

The hand on Tommy’s foot slides its way up Tommy’s pants leg. Adam still doesn’t look up. He caresses Tommy’s bare calf, sliding up the back as far as he can reach, dragging his fingertips down to the ankle. Tommy almost sighs aloud. Just the touch of Adam’s fingers on his leg is making him hard, like Adam’s fingers are plucking a nerve connected to Tommy’s cock. He slides to the edge of his chair, his foot pushing into Adam. Adam finally drops his pen. He moves Tommy’s foot to the side and let’s it fall to the floor. Tommy hopes he hasn’t pissed him off. He’s about to apologize when Adam ducks down from sight. Tommy’s chair is shoved back a few inches, and it startles him into laughing. He looks down at Adam peering up from under the table. 

“This is going to be quick and dirty,” Adam tells him. “But you seem to need the attention.”

“What is ...?” Tommy asks, but the rest of the question is cut off by shock when Adam swiftly undoes his pants and pulls them far enough down past his hips to free him. 

When Adam’s mouth closes around Tommy’s cock, Tommy nearly swallows his tongue and his eyes bug out. The slick heat renders him mute. His mouth drops open, head lolling back as Adam quickly swallows him down. Tommy’s heard about blow jobs, but never had one. The rumors don’t even compare to the real thing. He looks down at Adam’s head moving up and down in his lap. The feel of his mouth, so warm and wet, the slide and the suction are intense. On instinct, Tommy tries to widen his legs, but his pants won’t let him. Adam holds him firmly in place, his motion speeding up, sucking harder, his tongue playing over the head of Tommy’s cock. The thrumming in Tommy’s body is loud in his ears. He grabs the table with both hands to ground himself, and with a gasping squeak he comes in Adam’s mouth. He should’ve warned Adam, but he really didn't know it was going to happen this soon. Adam did say it’d be quick. Quick or no, Tommy’s vision is peppered with black spots as Adam tucks him back in, and crawls back to his side of the table. 

Adam sits back in his chair, closing his book, gathering up his papers. Tommy feels as though the room is tilting in several directions at once. He thinks Adam may’ve swallowed. That’s kind of hot. He wants to ask, but he doesn't know how to speak right now. Adam looks at him. 

“We should go. It’s late,” he says.

Tommy’s head bounces in a nod. He doesn’t think he can get up right now. Adam sucked all the strength out of him.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Adam smirks. 

Tommy grins. It’s a stupid grin, he can feel it, which makes Adam smile wider, the gleam in his eyes dancing. The door to the library closes, and they hear Mr Ivanti walking to the back. 

“Ah, boys, you’re still here,” Mr Ivanti says when he sees them. “I must close up now, you understand. And you two need to be in bed.”

Tommy, still grinning, gives Mr Ivanti a thumbs up, because bed sounds great right about now, and Adam laughs out loud. 

Mr Ivanti fusses with their books, looking them over, before carrying them off to be reshelved. Adam gathers up his papers as well as Tommy’s, and pulls Tommy out of the chair. Tommy leans into him. Adam guides him out of the library and down the dark hallway. 

They walk in silence, slow steps, not in any hurry to say goodnight at the stairs. Tommy feels more attached to Adam than ever, and the thought scares him. He’s never wanted to be emotionally dependent on anyone. And here he is, pretty much in love with Adam and letting Adam do new and amazing things to him. It suddenly dawns on Tommy that Adam has yet to allow Tommy to reciprocate in any way. The first night, they came together, but clothing stayed on. Then, Adam gave him a hand job, begged off Tommy returning it, saying he was too tired from the illness, which was probably true. Tonight, the blow job in the library, but Adam didn’t even stay close after it was over. Why? He didn’t even look as though getting what he gave was even on his mind. 

Tommy frowns as they move towards the stairs. They’ll have to part in a minute and go to their separate rooms. He stops and faces Adam. Adam smiles, wrapping his arm around Tommy’s waist. 

“Want me to come to your room?” he asks. He wants to see the response. “We could continue what you started in the library.”

“What I started?” Adam snorts. 

“Yeah,” Tommy laughs. “It was incredible.”

“You think so?” Adam asks. The delight obvious in his eyes. “That’s only the beginning.”

“Take me upstairs, then,” Tommy says eagerly. “Show me. Teach me.”

Adam’s look is predatory for a fleeting moment, he wants to, but the desire is shut down quickly and replaced with regret. 

“Amore, I can’t tonight,” Adam says. “I need to rest... my voice, and the debut is coming...”

Tommy backs away slightly, and Adam’s hold loosens. 

“I don’t understand,” he says. 

Adam looks pained, regret and longing pouring out of him. 

“It’s not a good time,” he tells Tommy. “Not yet.”

“But when?” Tommy asks, suddenly feeling desperate, and he hates that.

Adam opens his mouth to reply when they hear the large front doors of the conservatory thud shut, the metal lock clanging into place. They turn to look over the balcony opening over the large foyer. 

It’s midnight, who the hell is arriving this late? Tommy wonders.

Maestro Durante appears, greeting a man and a child who walk into view, being led in by the porter. The child is young, no more than seven years of age, holding his father’s hand. Tommy realizes what’s going on now. He’d heard this practice was starting at the conservatory now. 

Durante shakes the father’s hand briefly, kneels down and speaks to the child.

“What the hell is this?” Adam mutters.

“I think they’re going to castrate him,” Tommy replies. 

“What?” Adam wheels around angrily. “What did you say?”

Tommy takes a step back in surprise. 

“For castrati,” he explains. “Isaac said the conservatory was going to start doing the operations for some of the boys.”

Tommy couldn’t comprehend the look of grief on Adam’s face. 

“Here?” he asks with a tremor in his voice.

Tommy nods. “Yeah, some conservatories are starting to do it themselves now. It’s to ensure the operation isn’t so dangerous... or something.”

He stops speaking because he can see Adam is no longer listening. He’s turned back to the scene below. Durante is leading the father and child away. Tommy watches Adam, who is standing as still as a statue. When he turns away from the balcony, the heartbreak on his face alarms Tommy. 

“Adam,” Tommy reaches out a hand, but Adam moves away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is flat, almost disconnected. “I need to go to lie down now.”

Tommy nods, retrieving his hand and feeling a little foolish. 

“Goodnight,” Adam states. 

Tommy doesn’t reply because Adam’s already walking toward the stairs. Tommy watches him disappear up, and he reluctantly makes his way down to his room. He knows the news of the castrations is what’s bothering Adam. He doesn’t quite understand why, though. Adam loves to sing, it’s his life. Isn’t that why he was cut? Wasn’t he young enough when it was done not to remember the operation now? Tommy’s read the basics of the procedure. He was horrified by what he learned, but he’s come to accept it as the sacrifice it is for love of music. Hasn’t Adam? 

 

Two nights later, Tommy finds Adam waiting in one of the music rooms. He’s lost in thought and doesn’t hear Tommy come in. Tommy sits next to him on the divan and waits. He’s stopped himself a thousand times in the past two days from seeking out Adam. This subject isn’t something to be forced, even though Tommy’s dying for Adam to talk to him. It’s better to let Adam do it in his own time. It feels like hours before Adam speaks. 

“I was eleven when it was done,” he begins. “I’d been singing before I could even talk. I sang everywhere I went, and people praised me. I loved the praise, naturally. I still do. But I was a child, of course people praise a child. I didn’t care, I loved to sing. That was what mattered to me. I was in the marketplace with my mother one day, singing to myself as I picked over the fruit stands, and a maestro heard me. He approached my mother and asked her if I’d been trained, if they’d given any thought to formal training. I was eleven, I hadn’t given any thought to careers or being an adult. He offered to come by that evening and speak with my parents about possibly making singing my life. 

When he came, he had me sing for him, sort of like an audition. He was impressed and said so, mainly because I was untrained and still had incredible range. He spoke to my parents about conservatories and the boys that live there, who train rigorously under professional composers and retired opera singers. He felt I could be successful at an early age, be famous, but they had to act quickly if they wanted that. I was nearing the age when puberty began, the age when my voice would change forever. The conversation, the words had no meaning at all to me, and I mostly fidgeted, wandered around the room, and was finally excused. 

The next day, my parents sat me down and asked what I wanted to do with my life, what kind of profession did I see myself in. I really didn’t know. They asked if maybe I wanted to sing as a profession since I loved it so, would that interest me, to be a famous singer. I answered yes immediately, it would be a fine way to live. They told me I would have to make a sacrifice if I wanted this, because at twelve years old it would be too late, I would lose my voice and my chance because I would change. I was to be twelve in eight months. I didn’t want to change. I said I’d do anything in order to sing forever. 

That night, the village barber came to the house. He said he was there to see me, and I had no clue why, my hair didn’t need tending to. My parents, who’d been as nervous as cats all day, said he would help my future by doing orchidectomy, which is castration. I didn’t know what that meant then, but it sounded like an important word. And my parents had set this up and I trusted them. It was going to help establish me as a professional singer before I went to live in the conservatory. 

He gave me a cup of wine, which I’d always wanted to try, but it tasted horrible. I didn’t want to be impolite, so I drank it all. I didn’t know that it was laced with opium in order to sedate me for what was to come. I got sleepy very quickly and my mom had me lie down. The barber and my father brought in a tub of water, and my mother started to undress me. I didn’t feel like bathing and I told her so. She said this was necessary, it wouldn’t take long, then I could sleep. 

The water in the tub was cold, and I tried to get out only to be held in. I started to get scared. I was pleading with my mom to let me out and I didn’t notice the barber plunge a knife into the water. I felt something grab my testicles, and then the sharpest pain imaginable. It was mind numbing pain. Once it registered in my brain, I screamed. I screamed louder when the barber’s hands come out of the water with the knife and this pale, bloody lump of flesh. The water turned red instantly. There was so much blood. And so much pain. What the barber forgot to do was press down on my carotid arteries to render me comatose and temporarily stop circulation. Also, the water was supposed to be warm, not cold, in order to soften the organ, make it easier to remove. It’s a wonder I didn’t bleed to death. That happens often with this procedure, death from hemorrhaging or from infection. You probably read about that.

They pulled me out of the tub. I could see the blood gushing from between my legs. It terrified me. I thought I was going to die. My mom tried to force more opium laced wine down my throat, but I kept choking on it, still screaming and crying, terrified and confused. There was more pain as the barber sewed up the area. I passed out. I couldn’t handle anymore.”

Adam pauses, his composure wavering. Tommy says nothing. He let’s the words sink in, and waits for Adam to continue. 

“I didn’t realize what they meant by sacrifice. I just wanted to sing. In order to do that, my voice couldn’t change. I couldn’t change. My entire life is balanced on this. And I can’t go back. Nobody told me the physical pain and humiliation I would have to endure. Nobody warned me about the jeers, the snide comments about being a monster, a crime against nature, deformed. Nobody mentioned the absolute disdain I would get because I had been castrated. Castrato. Everyone knows what that means. Castrated. Not whole. Missing a vital part of your manhood. I’ll never fully be a man. I’ll never father children. I can’t even grow a beard. I’ll never even have body hair like all other men. If I lose my voice, I’m nothing more than a eunuch.”

Adam laughs without humor.

“Eunuchs were made to be slaves in ancient times. Castrati are really no different, we’re just set on gilded pedestals. I sing for aristocracy who think it’s marvelous to have a castrato on their guest list. Women and men both vie to have sex with me so they can later brag about how they’ve had a castrato. And yes, I’ve been with both merely to play the game. I was encouraged, or ordered rather, to do whatever these uppish vultures wanted of me because my worth rests on them. And I don’t give a damn about any one of them. Nor they for me, really. But my voice is pure and clear, they captured it just in time, and that’s what matters in this world. I’ve been physically altered and damaged for their art. I was sacrificed for their past time. And they keep doing it to other boys, other children who are even younger that I had been when I was cut.” 

Adam stops again, pressing his lips together. Tommy doesn’t speak, letting Adam’s personal experience wash over him. He’s heartbroken for Adam. He can’t imagine the pain, mentally and emotionally, the fear of not only the castration but of it being for nothing if his voice changes even one tiny bit. He feels anguish for a young Adam, being manipulated, pushed into doing things he didn’t want to do for the sake of making a name for himself. Just to sing. 

Tommy reaches out and takes Adam’s hand. He’s afraid Adam will pull away, but he does it anyway. Adam squeezes his hand, still not looking at him. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you physically,” he explains, still not looking at Tommy. “I’m afraid to be with you. I’m afraid of what you’ll say or think or the expression on your face when you see what they did. When you see that I’m mutilated, missing what men are supposed to have. If you decide it disgusts you and you can’t be with me anymore... I couldn’t take it.”

“You’ve been with others,” Tommy points out gently. “Surely they saw you down there.”

“You matter, though,” Adam states. “And that frightens me a great deal.”

The honesty is raw, and Tommy’s heart swells. 

“I’m never more aware of what I’m missing than when I’m with you,” he admits. “That’s not said to make you feel bad. But I feel shameful.” 

Tommy knows that nothing he says right now will make an impact, so he keeps quiet. He understands, though, why Adam finds reasons for Tommy not to reciprocate. He feels foolish now for thinking Adam just didn’t want him when the issue is much deeper rooted. His heart breaks that Adam is ashamed of himself when he’s with Tommy.

Tommy stands and tugs Adam’s hand. Adam finally looks up at him. Tommy pulls on his hand again, and Adam slowly stands. Without a word, Tommy leads him out of the music room. When they get to Adam’s room, Tommy doesn’t even pause. He opens the door and walks in, still leading Adam. He sits on the bed and Adam next to him. The light from the fire shines behind Adam, surrounding him in a beautiful glow, and it takes Tommy’s breath away. 

Adam looks at him questioningly. Tommy takes off his shirt, lets it fall to the floor, then reaches out to remove Adam’s. He’s apprehensive, but he lets Tommy lift it over his head and take it off. Tommy stands and pushes down his pants, stepping out of them. He motions for Adam to do the same, but Adam refuses with a shake of his head. Tommy takes his face between his hands and softly kisses him. He rubs a thumb over Adam’s cheekbone, and gives him a small, warm smile. 

“Trust me. Please,” he whispers. 

He can see the struggle for dignity and security over trust and love in Adam’s eyes. Finally, Adam nods slightly, giving in and not at all happy about it. He unbuttons his pants, looking away from Tommy as he slips them off, letting them pool on the floor at his feet. He sits stiffly on the edge of the bed, his body trying to fold in on itself so Tommy won’t see. Tommy pushes Adam’s shoulders, indicating that he lie back on the bed. Adam swallows hard, and Tommy can see the vein in his neck pulsing rapidly. He’s scared, and all Tommy wants to do is take that fear away for good. This is the only way he can think to do it. If Adam would just cooperate. 

Adam slides back, refusing to look at Tommy, and slowly lies back. He stares straight up at the ceiling, taking shallow breaths, waiting. His body is rigid with tension. Tommy runs his hands over Adam’s face, his neck, the curve of his chest. His hands slide down Adam’s waist, over his belly button. Tommy stops above his groin, and looks back up at Adam. His face looks almost glazed over, as though his mind has left the room. His hands are clenched into fists around the blanket on the bed. Tommy looks back down. Adam’s cock is limp but still fairly good sized for someone who didn’t go through puberty. It rests completely in line with his legs, dropping down slightly without balls underneath to curve up and lift it. 

Tommy slides down, laying himself next to Adam’s legs, his head at Adam’s hip. He lifts Adam’s cock. This is the first time he’s been able to touch it. It’s heavy and warm, the skin soft and smooth. It’s definitely gorgeous, and Tommy would love to explore it further, his entire body in fact, but tonight isn’t about sex. He looks underneath, pulling Adam’s thigh away with the other hand, and Adam obliges by moving his legs apart slightly. The horizontal scar is jagged and crude. It’s now the bleached white color of scar tissue and slightly pink around the edges. It’s a long, thick scar, and the cut itself obviously brutal and unskilled. Tommy inwardly weeps for Adam, the trauma he went through as a child, the price he’s still paying today. He leans in, placing his lips to the scar. Adam flinches. Tommy kisses it gently. He lays Adam’s cock back down over it, then lays his head on Adam’s hip, placing his hand on the other hip. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. 

He hears Adam inhale and swallow thickly. Tommy doesn’t have to look up to know he’s crying. They don’t speak. The only sound in the room is the fire cracking and popping. When he feels Adam’s hand in his hair, Tommy smiles. A barrier has been breeched, and it swells Tommy with pride and happiness. 

“My beautiful Adam,” he murmurs.


	8. Find the Door to the Promised Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy has a really good day.

“Hold still, you imp,” Sutan scolds.

Tommy lets out a short huff. This is taking forever. It’s fun, but he’s ready to be done and see the finished product.

“Almost done,” Sutan murmurs with a smile. “Just hang on.”

He’d tagged along when Adam said he was going to Teatro Alla Scala to help backstage before the castrato Tony’s performance. He waltzed into the theater behind Adam, confident this time, here on official business. Nobody told him to get out, and he got to wander around backstage, helping with costuming and makeup. It was kinda cool being part of the production. He’d been in the dressing room admiring some of the costumes, their colors and trimmings, when a voice cried out, “Honey, let me get at that lovely face!” 

He’d recognized Isaac’s friend Sutan, but had never seen him up close and personal. He had a darker complexion and eyes, delicate features, and smooth skin. His personality was open and brash, and Tommy liked him instantly. Sutan insisted on making up Tommy’s face, and even chose an outfit to go with it. So he’d put on the white shirt, beaded vest, and ruffled black jacket, then sat on the edge of a table for Sutan to do his makeup. He’d never worn makeup before, but it looked fun, so he let Sutan have his way. Adam sat in the corner, reading, while Tommy ate up Sutan’s attention. 

Tommy wiggles his nose against the makeup brush. It tickles, and Sutan opens his mouth to scold him again, but Tommy gives him a sheepish smile. Sutan returns it with a mock pout.

“Oh fine, I’m done,” he says, flinging down his brush on the table with finesse. 

Tommy turns and looks in the mirror behind him. He’s stunned by what he sees. Is that him? Sutan has managed to highlight his structure and angles, made his features pop, and he barely recognizes himself. He likes this. 

Sutan brandishes a hat with four hatpins jammed diagonally through the side front. He places it just so on Tommy’s head, and drapes a plain white scarf around his neck. “Look at you! What a dandy!” 

Sutan steps back to admire Tommy clearly proud of himself. 

“Adam, what do you think of your Tommy,” Sutan asks, snapping his fingers at Adam to pull his attention out of his book.

Adam looks up, and blinks, his eyes widening. He drops his book in his lap. An hour of sitting, turning his head this way and that way, inhaling and blinking away various powders, holding still, it was all worth it to see the expression on Adam’s face. 

“Have you ever been speechless, amico?” Sutan asks with a smile. “Then I have done my job, honey. Get up and look at him properly. Look at these colors on him.”

Adam rises from his chair and walks to Tommy, eyes never leaving him. He looks Tommy up and down appreciatively, but he seems awestruck by Tommy’s face. He doesn’t comment. He doesn’t have to. Tommy knows he looks amazing right now. He knows what Adam’s thinking. The look between them is focused and intense, and they forget Sutan’s even in the room.

Sutan snorts. “Va bene, I can get you fifteen minutes in here. No more, and I’ll be right outside, so keep the noise down, si?”

Adam glances over when Sutan opens the door. 

“Adam, try not to mess him up too much,” he says. “Fifteen minutes.”

Adam looks back at Tommy when Sutan shuts the door. Tommy’s suddenly nervous. Since the night Adam let him look at his scar, Tommy’s wondered if this day would come now. The day he would get to do things to Adam. He has no clue where to start, and that worries him. He glances down at Adam, and sees him bulging slightly. It makes him more nervous. 

“Will you tell me what to do?” he asks shyly. 

Adam nods. Tommy’s excited because this means Adam really trusts him, he’s going to let Tommy touch him. And he’s even more scared now because, oh my god, he’s going to touch Adam and he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t want to disappoint Adam.

Adam cups Tommy’s face, his thumbs following the shadowed lines Sutan made with the makeup. Tommy closes his eyes, slightly rubbing his face into Adam’s touch, like a cat. His eyes are still closed, lips slightly parted when he feels Adam’s mouth on his. The gloss on his mouth is sticky and it’s quickly smeared when he opens for Adam. The heat of Adam’s mouth radiates through Tommy’s insides, arousing all his senses, and he leans into it, pulling Adam’s hips flush with his. He loves kissing Adam. There can’t possibly be anything more sensual. Adam rubs against him, his cock hardening and pressing into Tommy’s. It’s a total turn on for Tommy, and he grabs Adam’s ass as he grinds into him. He’s enjoying this, but he wants to do more. He wants this to be about Adam, not him. It’s Adam’s turn this time. 

He pulls back from the kiss, and looks down, his fingers undoing Adam’s pants. He slides them down past his hips and he can hear Adam’s breathing grow heavier with anticipation. He reaches in and strokes Adam’s cock, relishing the gasps in his ear, before pulling him out. He looks up into Adam’s eyes, silently asking for guidance from here on. 

Adam removes Tommy’s hat and places it behind him on the table. He kisses Tommy on the lips, then his forehead. 

“Kneel down,” he tells Tommy softly. 

Tommy kneels, face level with Adam’s cock. It’s hard and leaking a little. It’s intimidating, and does nothing to soothe his nerves. He clutches Adam’s hips and looks back up at him. 

Adam strokes his face and hair gently. 

“Do you remember the library? When I did this to you?” he asks. Tommy nods, and Adam presses his thumb against Tommy’s chin, pushing it down so Tommy’s mouth opens. “Start like that. Don’t rush.”

Tommy still feels apprehensive. This is really going to happen. His grip on Adam’s hips tightens. 

“Don’t think so much,” Adam tells him. “It’s okay, I’ll tell you what to do.”

Tommy nods once, and opens his mouth wider. When his mouth slides around Adam’s cock, he closes it just a little to get a grip on it. Adam is heavy on his tongue, his skin salty and warm. As he takes more in, hears Adam stifle a whine.

“Take in as much as you can,” Adam says, his voice slightly strained. 

Tommy inches his mouth down around Adam’s shaft as far as he dares to go. When he feels the head hit the back of his throat, he jerks back.

“It’s okay,” Adam tells him, petting his hair. “Don’t rush it.”

Tommy glances up. Adam is watching him, which rattles Tommy, and he looks back down. 

“Pull back,” Adam tells him. “And when you do, suck. Not hard, just a little. You’ll know when you should suck harder.”

Tommy does as he’s told, and Adam moans. 

“Again,” Adam tells him. 

It doesn’t take Tommy long to get a rhythm of sliding down and sucking back up. He dares to look up again, and seeing Adam’s eyes closed, mouth parted gives Tommy a boost of encouragement. He moves a little faster. It’s becoming easier, and he’s not sure what he was afraid of. Adam groans. Feeling confident, Tommy grips the base of Adam’s cock and begins swirling his tongue around as he sucks. Adam’s hands wind into Tommy’s hair, clutching. Tommy takes this as a good sign, glancing up to see that yes, Adam’s face does look like he’s in ecstasy and not grossed out like Tommy’s doing all the wrong things. 

“Tommy,” Adam moans. “That’s so good. Keeping going. Keep sucking me, baby.”

Tommy is spurred on, and he sucks a little harder. Adam’s hands grip the back of his head, holding him closer so that Tommy can only move back and forth in short, fast movements. 

“Good, baby,” Adam whispers. “Perfect.”

The tiny dressing room is filled with Adam’s shaky breathing over the wet sounds of Tommy’s mouth moving over his cock. Adam reaches a hand under Tommy’s chin and begins massaging his throat near his jaw. Tommy looks up, meeting his gaze. Adam’s eyes are bright with lust. It turns Tommy on this time rather than scaring him.

“It’s okay, don’t stop,” Adam tells him, continuing to massage his throat. “Trust me. Just keep going.”

Tommy continues, feeling comfortable with the action and rhythm. He’s really enjoying Adam’s reaction. He’s making Adam respond like this. 

“My god, Tommy, you’re gorgeous,” Adam moans. “So perfect for me.”

He keeps massaging Tommy’s throat, pushing his cock a little farther in his mouth with each stroke. 

“Slower, baby,” Adam tells him, and Tommy immediately slows down. 

Adam grips Tommy’s head, holding him still. He pushes forward slowly and gently, until the head of his cock is pushing against the back of Tommy’s throat. Tommy feels panic and he looks up at Adam. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Adam tells him, looking almost drunk. “Just relax.”

Tommy relaxes as much as he can, trying not to freak out when he feels Adam’s cock sliding into his throat. He’s still looking at Adam, hoping the panic doesn’t show in his eyes. 

“Swallow,” Adam commands. 

Tommy swallows, feeling his throat constrict around Adam’s cock. Adam’s eyes shut instantly, one hand still clutching the back of Tommy’s head, the other reaching out to grip the table behind him for support.

“Again,” he demands, sounding almost desperate. 

Tommy swallows again, his throat pressing down on the head of Adam’s cock. He keeps swallowing, partly out of reflex to something lodged in his throat, mostly because of the look of pure ecstasy on Adam’s face. 

“Yes, Tommy,” Adam pants. “Swallow me, baby, oh god, Tommy.”

Tommy feels hot liquid drip down his throat before he feels the pulsing, and realizes Adam is coming. He grips Adam’s hips tighter, pulling him closer, pulling him a little father down his throat, and he keeps swallowing as rapidly as he can. He’s mesmerized by how Adam looks when he comes. His mouth open in a silent cry, eyes closed tightly, sweat glistening on his flushed skin, and Tommy can see a tremble run through him as the last of the orgasm rushes out. Oh yeah, Tommy wants to see this again. He wants to make it happen over and over. 

Adam carefully slides himself out of Tommy’s throat and mouth. Tommy holds still until he’s out, then looks up at Adam, feeling fairly pleased with himself. He can taste Adam in his mouth, his throat, and it makes him grin like a fool. He looks back at Adam’s cock and sees the lip color that Sutan had painstakingly put on his lips smeared all over it, and he releases a high giddy laugh. Adam looks down, then laughs with Tommy. 

“You better not let Sutan see your face,” he says. “He’ll have a fit, then faint dead away.” 

He tucks himself in, then reaches down and pulls Tommy off the floor. He wraps Tommy in his arms, and Tommy lays his head on Adam’s shoulder, snuggling into him.

“Was that okay?” he asks. 

“You were perfect, amore,” Adam replies, kissing the top of his head. 

The door cracks open, Sutan peeks in. When he sees that Adam and Tommy are not in compromising positions, he opens the door all the way.

“Time is up, miei cari,” he announces, clapping his hands. “The show must go on, so out. Oh fucking hell, Adam, look at his face!”

 

“Did you have fun today?” Adam asks as they walk back to the conservatory. 

“Yes,” Tommy replies. “A lot.” Then he blushes when remembers the dressing room.

Adam laughs. “Me too, one part in particular. But you looked like you were having a good time with everything else, too.”

Tommy smiles. “I did. It was really cool seeing the backstage efforts, helping put it all together. Most people don’t see that, I guess.”

“And of course being all dolled up,” Adam says. “Sutan has a way with makeup and colors. Then again, his canvas was beautiful to start with.”

Tommy blushes harder, smiling. He’d regretted having to take off the costume and wash off the makeup before they left, but he couldn’t parade around the city with it on. 

“Have you been to the opera or theater before?” Adam asks.

Tommy shakes his head, looking at his feet. 

“No, we weren’t exactly rich, and things like the opera were luxuries,” he says. 

“And you haven’t been to one since you’ve been at the conservatory?” 

“Well no,” Tommy answers. “My sort aren’t really held in high regard, and certainly not for things like that.”

Adam hums in response, and they fall silent. Tommy’s slightly embarrassed that he’s from such a poor background. Then he remembers that Adam’s background isn’t so glamorous either. 

“I think you should see the opera,” Adam tells him. “My debut is next week, and I’d like you to be there.”

Tommy smiles, glancing over at him. 

“I’d love to,” he says. “But I don’t know if I’d be able to go. I don’t think they’d let me in.”

“Oh please,” Adam laughs. “You snuck in during a practice with hardly anyone around. Surely you can blend in enough to walk in with a huge crowd.”

Tommy laughs. They’re approaching the conservatory steps, and Adam stops walking. 

“I’d really love for you to be there,” Adam says. 

Tommy can’t say no to that face, especially to something that would obviously mean a lot to Adam. 

“I’ll figure out a way,” Tommy promises. “I’ll be there. 

When they walk into the conservatory, Maestro Durante walks around the corner.

“Tommy, may I see you, per favore?” he asks.

“Of course,” Tommy says. 

He turns to Adam, who nods, and they wordlessly say goodbye. Tommy’s sure he’ll see Adam later tonight in one of the music rooms, as usual. 

“Close the door, and have a seat,” Durante tells him when he walks into Durante’s office. 

When Tommy sits on the divan by the unlit fireplace, Durante sits opposite him, and smiles. 

“How are things going for you?” Durante asks. 

Tommy shrugs. “Fine, I guess.”

Durante chuckles. “Tommy, you’re not in trouble. I merely want to check in with you.”

Tommy nods, but he doesn’t understand. Why is Durante always so interested in him? 

“Are you still okay with cleaning the music rooms nightly?” he asks. 

“Yes,” he answers.

“Especially since a certain friend joins you every night,” Durante states. 

Oh, so that’s what this is all about. His relationship with Adam. Verdi must’ve finally gotten his way, and now Tommy and Adam can’t see each other anymore. They’d find a way, though. They had to. 

Tommy clears his throat, trying to figure out what to say without going on the defensive. But Durante beats him to it.

“Oh Tommy, I don’t mind that he’s there,”Durante tells him. “I’m glad you’ve got each other. I think it was long overdue for you both to find a real friend and be comfortable, happy.”

Tommy stares at him. He’s glad?

“I’m also aware that you’ve been going to the music library often,” Durante continues. “I’m intrigued, child. Are you interested in music?”

Tommy doesn’t know what to say. This isn’t a conversation he expected to have with Maestro Durante. 

“Yeah,” he answers slowly. “I mean, I like music. I’ve been reading about composition and just... just curious is all.”

Durante nods. “And have you written anything?”

“Um,” Tommy swallows, suddenly unsure of himself. Of course he’d stolen blank sheet music from the music rooms and tried his hand at writing, but he’s not very good at it. 

“I’m asking because I’d like you to move to a music composition course that’s starting in two weeks,” Durante says. “It’s for beginning composers, and you have an interest. I’d like to give you the opportunity to try it. If you wish, that is.”

“Me?” Tommy asks, not sure if Durante realizes he’s talking to a poor orphan and not a musician. 

“Yes, you,” Durante says, smiling. “Don’t worry, I haven’t lost my senses. But you’re going to leave this place one day, and if you’d like to go into the music world, I’d like you to be prepared. You’re going to have to make a living somehow.”

Tommy would love to learn more about writing music. He’s never really considered it before, not seriously. It’s a flight of fancy, not practical for someone like him. But this course Durante is suggesting is a specialty course. And specialty courses cost money. 

“I can’t possibly pay for it,” Tommy says reluctantly. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” Durante says. “If you’d like to be in this class then you’ll be part of it. I expect nothing of you except that you do your best.” 

Tommy can hardly believe it. He’s excited and he’s dying to tell Adam. 

Why you? that little rational voice in his mind asks. Why is Durante always taking care of you like this? 

Tommy can’t answer that. He has no clue why Durante takes such an interest in him. Right now, though, he’s getting to take a music class, and he’s anxious for it to start. 

“Shall I put you on the roster?” Durante asks.

Tommy nods, “Yes. I’d like that.” 

“It’s done,” Durante says, pleased. “Now, another thing. Since you’re going to be taking a music composition class, I feel it’s necessary that you begin attending operas and other musicals. Since this is invaluable for your education, the conservatory will provide your entry to these functions, as well as the appropriate clothing.”

“What?” Tommy is astounded. He can’t believe this generosity. He’s also wary of it. What’s the catch? Why is Durante doing this? 

“It’s an investment,” Durante explains. “You can’t write music if you’ve never even been to the shows for which you’ll be writing.”

Tommy doesn’t really buy this, but remembers Adam has a show next week that he’s promised to attend. If he takes Durante up on his offer, he won’t have to sneak in. And he’ll be dressed nicely, besides. Adam would be proud of him.

“Um, well, there’s one coming up,” Tommy begins.

“Ah yes, Adam’s debut,” Durante says with a smile. “Yes, the Teatro Alla Scala tends to make or break castrati. It can be a hair-raising experience. I’m sure it’d be a comfort to Adam to have you there. So you shall go, Tommy. That will be your first show.”

Tommy feels elated. He can’t believe all this is happening. In fact, everything today has been surreal. If it’s all a dream, he hopes he never wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: Castrati were still able to get erections and have sex, even with the testicles removed. Views/reports on their sexual appetite vary, though.  
> As for ejaculation, some fluid for ejaculation is made in the prostate, not the testicles. This is where the sugars, enzymes, and other chemicals are mixed as that white fluid. (yeah, i looked it up ;) So apparently, going by this, castrati could form some type of fluid to ejaculate, but I don't know how much.


	9. Close Your Eyes and You Will Find the Way Out of the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam's debut. Tommy pays a price.

Tommy tears into his roll with his teeth while listening to Isaac chatter in his ear. It’s lunchtime, and all of the orphans are seated in the dining room, eating and talking loudly. Tommy’s not entirely sure what Isaac’s telling him. He’s starving and the food in front of him is his main focus. 

“Well?” Isaac asks. 

Tommy looks at him blankly, his mouth full of bread. 

“Have you been listening at all?” Isaac asks. 

Tommy starts replaying the last five minutes in his head, trying to remember the course of the conversation. Isaac rolls his eyes, and reaches for his water glass, frowning when he finds it empty.

“Hey, Glory,” he calls. 

She’s serving more bread at the end of the table, and she looks up at Isaac.

“Can I get more water?” he asks, waving his glass at her.

“In a minute,” she huffs. “If I remember.”

Shooting a quick glare at Tommy, she turns and goes back into the kitchen. Tommy doesn’t feel so hungry anymore, and he sets his roll down. He’s managed to avoid Glory at all costs, even during breakfast, lunch, and dinner by keeping his head down and focused on his plate. Glory lets the young girl helping her serve Tommy’s side of the table each meal, each day, so she hasn’t come into contact with him since the night he left her room for Adam’s. She has no clue about Adam, but Tommy turning her down gives her enough reason to hate him for life. He didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, but he’d rather just move on and forget it ever happened. Glory, however, appears to hold grudges. 

“What the hell is her problem?” Isaac wonders. He looks over at Tommy. “Hey, you never did tell me how things went with her that night. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Tommy mumbles, picking at his food with a fork. 

“Well she’s pissed about something,” Isaac replies. “What’d you do, throw up on her? Pass out before the main event? Call her by someone else’s name?”

“No, none of that,” Tommy snaps. God, why can’t Isaac just leave shit alone? 

“Oh,” Isaac says with realization. “I see. Nothing happened, literally. Holy shit.”

“Leave it,” Tommy says.

“No wonder she’s mad,” Isaac laughs. 

“Drop it,” Tommy begs. 

“You passed out, didn’t you?” Isaac prods. “You were really drunk, Tommy. It’s no surprise. Hey, no worries, though. With girls like her, you just tell her you’re sorry real sweet like, and she’ll be all over you again. Hell, even give her a flower or something. She’ll give it another go.”

“Fucking drop it, Isaac,” Tommy shouts. 

Isaac’s face falls, his laughter cut off. Tommy immediately regrets yelling. Several boys near them look in their direction, hoping to see the argument play out. Tommy lower’s his head and chews on his thumb. 

Isaac sets his napkin next to his plate, and leans back in his chair. 

“Sutan mentioned you were at La Scala the other day,” he says casually, calling the theater by its nickname. “With Adam.”

Tommy shrugs. He hasn’t talked to Isaac about Adam, not because he’s ashamed, but because he wants to keep Adam to himself. He doesn’t want to share anything between them with other people, even though a few people already know. He told Isaac about the music class, and he pretty much tells Isaac most everything, but not this. His relationship with Adam feels almost sacred. It’s his. And right now he feels selfish for thinking that way since his friend obviously knows something’s up. He can feel Isaac’s stare boring a hole through him. 

“You know what you’re doing, Tommy?” Isaac asks the question with concern, not scorn, and for that Tommy’s grateful. 

“No,” he answers bluntly.

“How deep is it?” he asks. 

“Pretty deep,” Tommy replies. 

He finally pulls his gaze out of his lap and looks at his friend. Isaac nods, realizing how far things have gone. How far gone Tommy is over the castrato.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Isaac tells him.

“He won’t hurt me,” Tommy says.

“Not by him, by others,” Isaac states. 

“Why would anyone hurt me?” Tommy asks. 

“Adam’s career is for the enjoyment of the rich,” Isaac says. “He’s theirs. At least in their eyes, he belongs to them. Anybody that takes his attention, his time, they’ll crush. Especially someone from the poor class. They’ll never accept you. And then there are the people from our social level who see him as unnatural, on top of that he’s gay, and you, my friend, they will hate you openly for being involved at all with him. They may not be able to get to him, but they can get to you.”

Tommy lets Isaac’s words sink in. He’s never considered any of this. He’s never even thought of barriers like this.

“I’ll be okay,” Tommy replies weakly. He doesn’t know what else to say, and Isaac has him a little worried now. 

Isaac nods. “I hope so.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy tells him. “For not talking about it.”

Isaac waves his hand, brushing aside the apology. “I understand. But it sure explains why you’ve been so moody and distant since that guy showed up here.” 

Tommy gives him a small smile. Isaac turns back to his plate, picking up his fork and stabbing a potato with it. 

“I wonder if I still have a shot at Glory?” he wonders.

“Please, you never had a shot with her,” Tommy snorts, falling back into good humor.

“I’ll have you know I’m very charming with the ladies,” Isaac informs him. 

“Says who?” Tommy asks with a laugh. “No women have said that. Who told you that?”

“All of them,” Isaac states, raising his chin to comical levels. “I’m very popular with the women, and Glory is falling under my spell.”

“Yes, clearly. That’s why she rushed out here to bring you more water,” Tommy laughs, poking his friend in the shoulder.

Isaac looks in his empty glass and curses. 

 

Tommy stares at himself in the small mirror in his room. It’s not big enough to see himself entirely, but he can manage to get the full picture if he stands on his tip toes and looks down. He’s dressed for Adam’s debut tonight, and he’s nervous. Nervous for Adam, nervous about going to the opera alone. Nervous. At least he looks nice. The clothes are higher quality than he’s ever had and probably ever will have again. He found them hanging in his wardrobe when he returned from classes this afternoon, along with a note stating that his name is on the entry list at the door of the theater. Adam had been excited when Tommy told him about his meeting with Durante, and that Tommy would, in fact, be at his debut. 

Tommy checks himself over one last time, smoothing his jacket and his hair. He wants to get there as early as possible so he can find a spot in front of the stage. Or as close as possible to the stage. He figures the orchestra wouldn’t appreciate it if he pushed through them in order to stand at the edge of the stage right in the middle. But he wants to be visible to Adam. He can’t wait to hear Adam sing. He hasn’t really heard him since that night he eavesdropped on his practice and the day he snuck into the theater with Isaac. Adam doesn’t sing outside of practice. He hums often enough, but he doesn’t let loose like he does in rehearsal in order to let his throat rest. Tommy could stand outside the music room when Adam rehearses, but he doesn’t want to chance getting caught by Verdi. Adam has enough to worry about without Tommy angering his maestro. 

Tommy brushes dust off his new shoes, glances one last time at himself, and turns to go. He declined a carriage to and from the theater. He likes the walk, especially at night when everything has cooled off and it’s quiet. Maybe Adam will be able to walk back with him if he’s not forced to attend any parties after the show. He smiles to himself and practically bounces down the conservatory steps and onto the street, making his way to the theater. 

He arrives to a throng of people outside La Scala, all of them pushing their way into the theater. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one with the idea of arriving early. Tommy slips into the crowd and is pushed by the flow whether he wants to be or not. He finally reaches the door, gives his name, and is relieved when he’s waved inside. He didn’t doubt Durante when he said Tommy was on the list, but a little part of him panicked at the last second. No matter, he’s inside, he’s surrounded by noise, people, and the rich red tapestries and gold trimmings. He feels giddy. He’s excited for Adam, excited for himself. Rather than stopping to really take it all in, he rushes into the main theater to find the best spot possible. 

He makes his way down the floor, dodging around people setting up card tables and chairs. He sees where he wants to stand, close to the edge of the stage, next to the orchestra. Adam can’t miss him there. He nearly runs down the aisle and claims it, standing, quite pleased with himself. Now he can look at everything around him. The chandelier is lit with what Tommy thinks must be a thousand candles. It looks like the ceiling is on fire, the light bouncing off the gold layers on the ceiling, walls, and edges. The boxes, empty when he and Isaac snuck in, are jammed with smartly dressed people. The floor area is quickly filling up with people, friends greeting each other, men swaggering back and forth trying to impress ladies. The place is louder than he expected with laughing, drinking, yelling, and the orchestra tuning up. He knows Adam’s voice is strong, and he hopes it’s strong enough to break through the chaos of the audience. 

After what feels like hours of anticipation, Maestro Verdi waltzes out and takes his place in front of the orchestra. The noise of the crowd abates little when the curtain rises, and Adam steps out. Tommy, however, is immediately transfixed. Adam is dressed in deep purple velvet and black linen, a top hat with feathers, his face heavily made up with black kohl, pink rouge, and his lips are shiny. Tommy sees this man on a daily basis, but he wasn’t prepared for the stunning creature that just arrived. When Adam opens his mouth and his voice soars, Tommy almost weeps. The sheer beauty of Adam’s voice and his demeanor are overwhelming, and it makes Tommy’s heart ache physically with longing and pride. 

Tommy’s heard over and over the dreaded judgement of Teatro Alla Scala, and, in truth, it frightened him for Adam. He had awful visions of Adam being driven off the stage by boos or objects thrown, or worse, no one acknowledging his presence on the stage. It’s worried him. The audience does not immediately quiet down when Adam starts singing, but his opening notes are strong enough to cut through most of the noise in front of him. The audience is visible to him, and Adam makes as much eye contact as possible with those listening. Soon, they’re all listening. Adam commands the stage, he commands the audience, and Tommy is practically swooning where he stands. Adam spies him and fixes his gaze on Tommy. He saunters down to the corner where Tommy is standing and sings directly to him. Tommy places a hand over his heart, his smile so wide it feels like his face will split. Adam gives him a wink and returns his focus to the rest of the room, strutting and flirting with the audience. Tommy glances around to see that they, too, are mesmerized. 

When the last notes are sung, the audience cheers are so loud Tommy fears his eardrums might burst. The noise echoes through the room, and reverberates through Tommy’s body. Adam bows modestly, blows a kiss, and exits the stage. Tommy is overjoyed at the reception. Adam’s career has officially taken off, he’s been accepted by Italy, by Opera. Every door in the world will be open to him now. The thought sneaks up on Tommy and his heart skips. Every door in the world is open now. Adam has no reason to stay at the conservatory. Or with Tommy. In fact, protocol dictates that Adam tour the big cities and countries so they can hear him. Where does Tommy fit into that? Does he fit at all? Tommy looks back at the stage, empty but for random flowers lying upon it. The orchestra is leaving, the audience is packing up to go. He knows Adam is required to attend parties after the show, be amicable with the wealthy that will fund his trips and make his name known. Tommy suddenly feels alone. 

He leaves La Scala, pulling his coat around him as the wind picks up, trying not to imagine what Adam’s fame will mean for them. He is so proud of Adam his heart is about to burst. Adam deserves all the fame and fortune and adoration the world can give him. Tommy will just enjoy the time he has left with Adam. Maybe someday he can see Adam in Venice or Paris, maybe even Spain. He’s got a feeling that once Adam gets a real groove going, he’ll be unstoppable. The thought makes him smile. He also wonders where he’ll be, what he’ll be doing while Adam’s busy charming the world, and his smile falls. Maybe he’ll teach, if he learns enough music and is good at it. Tommy is so lost in thought that he fails to hear the footsteps behind him. He becomes aware of low toned giggling a block away from the conservatory. 

“Hey,” a voice calls behind him. “Don’t I know you?”

Tommy slows his pace, turning to look behind him. He sees three large guys walking a few feet behind him. He doesn’t recognize them. 

“I don’t think so,” he replies, continuing on. 

“Yeah, I know you,” the guy says. The two with him snicker, glancing at each other. 

Tommy stops, turning around to face them. They approach him and the closer they get the more familiar they look. 

“Aren’t you Glory’s friend?” the guy asks, stopping in front of him.

Tommy recognizes them now. They’re the brutes that were with Glory that night at the bar. Tommy’s surprised and a touch wary that he’s run into them. 

“I guess,” he says. He can’t really claim to be Glory’s friend, but it’s easier just to agree. 

The guy’s smile widens and he looks at his friends. 

“Thought so,” he says. “You look like you don’t like girls, alright.”

“Pardon?” Tommy asks, stunned. He can’t possibly have just heard that. 

“She told us you don’t like girls,” the guy said. His friends giggle. 

Fear creeps into Tommy’s spine. Something is wrong here. These guys didn’t just happen by. 

“What do you want?” Tommy asks.

The brute shrugs. “Just wanna know why you hate girls. I wanna understand how you could prefer a guy over a girl.”

“I don’t hate girls,” Tommy says. 

He starts backing up. If he can just get to the conservatory steps, he can get out of this confrontation by rushing for the door. But the other two guys move quickly around, flanking him, and his path to safety is cut off. He stands still, very aware of the air around him, his body tensing and ready to fight. 

“That’s so funny you say that,” the brute laughs. His friends’ laugh too and it’s mocking. “Because Glory said you turned her down for that freak of nature singer you’re always with.”

Tommy doesn’t reply. He stares the brute straight in the eyes, refusing to show weakness or fear. The brute moves closer.

“So I take it you like fooling around with freaks,” the guys says. “I don’t know why. If you’re gonna be queer, at least pick a man that’s a man and not part woman because he has no balls.” 

The brutes all snort in unison, agreeing. Tommy doesn’t flinch. Inwardly, he’s quivering with anger. 

“Maybe,” the brute looks Tommy up and down, sizing him up. “You’re scared of girls, so you fuck around with a monster to make yourself feel like a man. Is that it?”

“Fuck off,” the words are out of his mouth before he realizes it. 

“No need to be rude. You’re the one that fancies guys, not me,” the brute says. 

He moves closer. In fact, all three move in closer to Tommy, crowding him. 

“So is it true?” he asks. “You fucking that monster? You turned down Glory for that thing?”

Tommy stays quiet, knowing no answer will satisfy. These guys approached him with an agenda, and they mean to carry it out. All Tommy can do is wait for the opportunity to slip out of their grasp. 

“I don’t see how,” the guy continues. “I mean, you need balls, right? He doesn’t have any, how does he even get it up? Which one of you is the girl in that, by the way? I’m just curious. I mean, I don’t know how that all works. Or he must be the girl, of course.”

The other two laugh in Tommy’s ear. It stabs his soul to hear them talk about Adam this way. But it’s three against one, and Tommy isn’t ignorant at all of the size difference between them. Isaac’s words come back to him. He can feel the loathing rolling off these strangers just because he’s with Adam. Tommy figured there would eventually be some kind of backlash to their relationship, but he didn’t expect it this soon. 

Without warning, the two beside Tommy grab him, pinning his arms and picking him up. As they carry him off the sidewalk, he lets out a scream, which is cut off by the third guy clamping his hand over his mouth. They move away from the street where anyone could happen by and stop them and behind the buildings where they won’t be seen. 

They drag Tommy to the ground, forcing him to lie down. The two holding him practically sit on him to keep him down and still. The third glares at him, the malice palpable, and Tommy doesn’t understand why his preference for anything even matters to these people. The brute kneels down and starts yanking at Tommy’s clothes. Tommy kicks and bucks and tries to get loose, but all three are so much stronger than him. In fact, he’s not sure but that his flailing aided in the removal of his clothes. When he’s completely naked, the third brute pulls out a knife. Tommy’s adrenaline kicks up higher. The guy smiles coldly, looking him in the eyes.

“Since you like the monsters so much,” he tells Tommy. “We’re gonna make you just like them.”

Panic and fear surges through Tommy as the intent settles in. He struggles harder, screaming until his throat feels inflamed, though the noise barely makes it past the hands over his mouth. 

“I wouldn’t struggle if I were you,”’ the guy says, waving the knife around. “We wouldn’t wanna cut the wrong thing.”

The knife plunges down. Tommy screams out of expectation. Then he screams out of sensation. The pain is cold at first, and his brain is confused by it. As it works its way through out his body, it becomes sharp and hot. His nerve ending throb as though they’re trying to tear out of his body altogether. He glances down and sees the knife sticking up from the middle of his balls. The blade went through, impaling him, and he can feel the end of it in the earth. He tries not to move so the blade won’t wobble. He feels nauseous, clammy, sweat slides down his face. Or is it a tear? His throat is closing off and he can’t breathe as shock settles over him. He feels almost outside of himself. 

Tommy nearly vomits as the knife is abruptly pulled out, the feel of the cold steel sliding through him making him shake. He sees a brief gleam off the blade before he feels it plunged in again. He doesn’t even have breath to scream this time and his throat constricts in a grunt. He feels warm liquid pooling underneath him and realizes it’s probably blood. His blood. And he’s going to bleed to death. The blade comes out again, but Tommy is past screaming. He shakes violently and stares mute at the night sky as he’s lifted off the ground by his shoulders and legs. 

When he’s dropped unceremoniously, it's onto cold concrete. He hears the footsteps that brought him here fade away, and he’s alone. His brain allows shock to take over now that imminent danger is gone, and the world goes black. He feels his mind shut down and hide. From far away, he hears a heavy door open and what sounds like Maestro Durante issuing a frantic wail, and then all is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 is underway, so hang tight!


	10. Just Reach Out for the Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy finds out stuff.
> 
> And I just made a video for this story! Nothing special, just pictures to the theme song. :)
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1VfX-BkVjU

Tommy spends several days in and out of haze filled reality and dark dreams. Maestro Durante’s wail echoes in his head. Adam’s cries of sorrow and apologies invade his soul. He hears Isaac, too, relaying conservatory news and gossip like he normally does, but his voice sounds strained and not quite like Isaac. A stranger’s voice, which sounds like he’s speaking from inside a tunnel, says the knife used was dirty, and the infection will take time to go away, but it’s still early to tell the extent of the damage. He doesn’t really know what that voice is referring to, but then he dreams and the incident replays itself in gray shadows and moonlight glinting off steel.

He feels hot most of the time. Sometimes cold, but mostly too hot, and it makes him whine and kick against the blanket covering him. Then something bitter is poured down his throat, and he crashes back into sleep. At times, he hears Adam speaking softly to him, like his mouth is right up next to Tommy’s ear whispering secrets. He can’t always understand what Adam’s saying, but he can distinguish his voice and it’s soothing. At times he thinks he hears Adam singing in a low voice, not an aria or anything operatic, but some sort of lullaby, something personal and just for him. When he hears “Ti amo, ti amo, il mio amore” he opens his eyes. The words fade as his eyes adjust, and he’s not sure if he actually heard them or dreamed them. 

He glances over and sees Adam next to the bed. He’s seated in a chair with his head and torso folded over on the bed next to Tommy. He’s asleep. Tommy looks around the dimly lit room. He doesn’t recognize it. It’s larger than his room, the bed is bigger and more comfortable, the air in here is warmer due to the fireplace, which is burning embers. This must be a room for the injured or sick, and he’s definitely injured. His groin is a mass of nerves on fire. He looks back at Adam, not wanting to wake him, but not wanting to be alone. He reaches out a hand and touches Adam’s arm. It only takes a tentative shake, and Adam is instantly awake. 

“Tommy,” Adam’s eyes widen and he sits up, clutching Tommy’s hand. “Grazie a Dio. I’ve been so worried about you, everyone’s been worried, but you’ll be okay now. You’re awake, you’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” 

He pets Tommy’s head, kisses his hand, relief in his tired eyes. 

Tommy remembers what happened and he feels uncomfortable. How many people know what happened? What’s he supposed to say when he doesn’t even understand the hatred involved?

“Where am I?” he asks. It’s an easier question to deal with right now. 

“In a room on the top floor,” Adam answers. “Maestro thought you’d be more comfortable up here, so he moved you. You’re down the hall from my room.”

Tommy just nods slightly. He’s on the castrati floor. The floor that houses all the males who’ve been… In a breath of panic, Tommy slides his hand beneath the covers to his groin. There’s already a great deal of pain and grabbing himself doesn’t help, but when he feels the organ still there, he releases a gasp of relief. Then he feels guilty for it. 

“Still there,” Adam kisses his hand again. “There is damage, but you didn’t lose them.”

Tommy’s guilt just increases, and he can’t look at Adam. He still has his balls; Adam doesn’t and never will, and Tommy’s just grateful he escaped that particular fate. He feels like he should apologize to Adam for something. 

“Tommy, what happened?” Adam finally asks the inevitable question. “Why?”

Tommy remembers the opera and that he had a great time, but the memory, the feeling of its elation has been destroyed. The walk back, the ignorant hate, the pain, the cold, he doesn’t want to remember. The grip on his hand tightens as Adam squeezes. It feels almost desperate. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he says. “You don’t. I’m here, though, if you ever do.”

Tommy almost feels like he owes an explanation of the attack, even though he did nothing wrong. He’s debating on what to say, or whether or not to say anything, when the door opens and Maestro Durante enters. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” Durante exclaims. He looks genuinely pleased. He rushes to Tommy, standing just behind Adam. He reaches over and touches Tommy’s forehead and cheek. “Your fever has broken finally. I know it’s a ludicrous question, but how are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” Tommy croaks. It is a stupid question with an obvious answer, but it seems protocol to open with it when encountering someone who’s ill or injured. 

Durante nods. “The doctor has been keeping a close watch on you. It doesn’t look like anything will have be amputated, but the damage can’t really be assessed until the swelling and the infection go down. We’ve been keeping you under with laudanum so your body can heal without outside stress.”

Tommy commits to a short nod. He’s just waiting for Durante to ask the same question Adam did. He doesn’t disappoint.

“What happened, child?” Durante asks, his voice going down a notch with concern. 

Tommy clears his throat. He doesn’t want to talk about it in front of Adam. After all the horrible things that were said about him, he can’t bear for Adam to hear them. Adam senses his hesitation, and smiles at him.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I understand.”

Adam touches Tommy’s cheek, and stands to leave. When the door closes behind him, Durante takes a seat in the chair next to the bed. 

“Who did it, Tommy?” he asks. 

“I don’t really know them,” Tommy says. “I’ve only met them once. They’re friends of Glory’s.”

“The kitchen maid?” Durante’s eyebrows furrow. 

Tommy nods, and continues. He relays the ugly story to Durante, though he doesn’t know why he even feels comfortable enough doing so. Probably because Durante is really the only father figure he’s had for a while, and right now he needs a parental presence. He’s never known why Durante insisted on taking him in, or how the man knew Tommy even existed. It’s always puzzled him, the special treatment, the kind looks Durante seems to give to only him, but he’s never felt he should ask. He’s never wanted to appear ungrateful. 

Durante listens closely to what Tommy’s telling him. He looks almost sick, but he doesn’t interrupt. Tommy remembers hearing Durante’s cries after being dropped at the conservatory doors. They sounded like the wails of a father, not just a teacher or impartial guardian. He has a lot of orphans here, why is Tommy special? 

When Tommy’s done speaking, Durante stays silent. He’s clearly bothered by what he’s heard. He remains composed, but Tommy can see that the man is shaken. And angry. 

“I appreciate your candor,” he finally says. “That couldn’t have been easy to talk about. I promise something will be done about it. I’ll see to it personally. I don’t want you to be afraid, but I don’t want you out and about by yourself for a while. Not until this is resolved, and those responsible have been dealt with. Agreed?”

Tommy nods. “Okay.”

Durante starts to rise, and Tommy suddenly finds himself grabbing his arm. Durante looks back. 

“Is there something else?” he asks. “Would you like me to send Adam back in?”

Of course he’d like Adam to come back in, but that’s not why he grabbed Durante.

“Why me?” he blurts out. “Why did you take me in? How did you even know me?”

Durante’s face softens and he smiles. 

“I expected to have this conversation one day,” he says, sitting back down. He places a cool, soft hand over Tommy’s. “It’s simple, really. I knew your mother when we were children. We were playmates. She was a sweet girl, loved butterflies. She chased so many of them. She didn’t catch them and keep them like most children, she just wanted to fly with them. She said when she grew up she wanted a child as beautifully delicate and strong as a butterfly. I’d say she got her wish.” 

Durante, eyes shining, pauses to smile at Tommy, who smiles back. He never knew any stories from his parents’ childhood. Never thought to ask. Like most children, he assumed his parents had always been adults, always been the same people they were at that time. He never thought they’d been young and energetic in the beginning. 

“We didn’t come from wealth or even from middle class, but it didn’t seem as pronounced in people as it is today. Or maybe I’m just older and I see things through societies’ eyes rather than a child’s. But your mother and I were best friends, never went anywhere or did anything without each other. I used to sing for her all the time. We’d sit by the river, or take long walks, or I’d climb a tree and serenade her, and she’d dance. And then, when I was eight, I was cut, my future and fate decided, and I moved into a conservatory to train. It was hard leaving my best friend behind. It was even harder keeping in touch through the years. Responsibilities creep up as you grow, other things take more precedence. Simply put, life just happens. 

My family managed to move up the social class ranks, thanks to my voice. I still tried to keep in touch with your mother as best I could, even though it was frowned upon by both our families and friends, and our social circles were vastly different by that time. Letters became fewer and fewer. Next thing I knew, I heard she’d married your father. I was happy for her, and I wanted to see her. It was some time before I could make the visit, though. It was quite an awkward visit. Your father didn’t appreciate my showing up and asking to see his wife, although I assure you there wasn’t anything to worry about. I think he was sure a castrato had come to sweep away his childhood sweetheart.” Durante chuckles fondly at the memory. 

“He did give us some time alone to talk, and I’ve always been grateful. Your father was a strong, traditional man, and he loved her a great deal. It was wonderful to see her. She’d aged faster than I due to environment and circumstances, but she was still beautiful. I could still see that girl in her. 

She told me that she was with child. I was excited for her, yet concerned. Poverty doesn’t suit anyone, Tommy. I was distressed that the child, you, would grow up as poor as we’d been, as she was still. I had more money of my own by then and was in discussions about opening my own conservatory since my throat and voice were starting to wear down with use. I wanted to help her, to help you, but pride stands in the way of a lot. I trusted your mother, and I knew she’d take care of you no matter what. I promised to respect that and keep my distance, but also to keep watch for your sake. I vowed that if anything at all should befall your parents, I would take you in, be your guardian. I never wanted that day to come. But it did. When I heard she was gone... well, I immediately thought of you.

And that is why you’re here, Tommy. I’m your self-appointed godfather, if you will, and that is why you will never want for anything again. I kept you with the other orphans when you got here because I didn’t want to single you out any more than you already felt. I didn’t want to cause animosity for you among your peers. I wanted you to grieve and settle in here, move forward. You were safe and cared for, and that was my main concern. I would tell you more when the time came.” 

Durante falls silent, letting Tommy process his story. Things start fitting into place for Tommy after hearing this. He feels slightly flooded by the information, yet a promise that he’s not alone after all. He still has a parental figure to rely on and turn to, and it’s someone he respects, someone who’s already helped him. He begins to feel a little less lost and more like he belongs. 

“I miss my mom,” he says quietly. He looks up at Durante, tears filling his eyes.

“I miss her, too,” Durante confides. “I’m sorry she’s not here. I’m sorry your father isn’t either. I know you’d rather have them at a time like this.”

“I’m glad to have you,” Tommy says. “I am. Thank you for taking me in. Thank you for not leaving me alone.”

Durante leans over and places a kisses on Tommy’s forehead. Just as his mother would’ve done. 

“You’ve never been alone, Tommy,” he says. “Now I shall send Adam back in. He’s been dreadfully worried and inconsolable, has hardly left your side since we found you. He loves you a great deal.”

The words echo in his mind, Ti amo, ti amo, il mio amore. Was it possible Adam had said them and they weren’t a dream from a feverish mind?

“Oh, I doubt he’s... he feels... that way...” he stammers, becoming shy.

“No?” Durante asks with a knowing smile. “I beg to differ. And I think the feeling is mutual.”

Tommy feels himself blush, which he hates because Durante’s right. 

“Rest, Tommy,” he says, getting up. “We’ll move on from this together, si?”

When Adam returns, he looks unsure. He sits by the bed again, looking around the room, barely glancing at Tommy, almost nervous. The atmosphere is uncomfortable.

“How were your reviews?” Tommy asks, hoping to break this sudden ice, but possibly with the wrong topic.

“Uh, my reviews?” Adam stumbles. “Oh, they were fine. People enjoyed the performance. So, that was good.”

Why is he so skittish? Tommy wonders. What changed from the time he left the room until the time he stepped back in?

“Verdi is pleased?” he asks, watching Adam closely.

Adam nods, pressing his lips together, humming his answer. 

“What is it?” Tommy asks.

“What?” Adam’s response is tight and high.

“Why are you acting like you’re ready to run out of here?” Tommy inquires. “Are you afraid of me now or something? Are you ashamed of me for getting attacked?”

“Ashamed? What?” Adam replies, confused. 

“I shouldn’t have been walking alone, I know,” Tommy continues. “I should’ve just... I don’t know, not even stopped when those buffoons started talking to me, but I didn’t know they’d try....I didn’t know they meant to...” 

He stops. Adam is staring at him aghast. 

“Sorry,” he says, looking away. 

“For what?” Adam asks softly. 

Tommy shrugs. “I did all the wrong things. I wasn’t smart about it. You’re disappointed in me.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Adam tells him. “You did not cause this, and I don’t want you thinking otherwise. How can you think I’m disappointed in you?”

“You seem nervous being here,” Tommy says. “Like you don’t want to be around me, or I’ve made you ashamed or something.”

Adam sighs. “No. It’s not that at all.”

Tommy looks up, but Adam’s no longer looking at him. He’s looking down. 

“I’m ashamed of me,” he admits. 

Tommy can’t believe he’s just heard that. “Why?”

“I brought this on you, did I not?” Adam asks. He looks at Tommy. “Me being what I am and you being around me, that’s what caused this, isn’t it?”

Tommy doesn’t say anything, which confirms what Adam said. 

“If I hadn’t come here, this wouldn’t have happened to you,” Adam says with a sad smile. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be chasing girls. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been out walking alone that night. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been a target at all. And none of this would’ve happened to you.”

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know what love is,” Tommy replies. “If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be interested in music. If it weren’t for you, I doubt I’d even smile once a week.”

“Love?” Adam repeats. His face softens. “Do you love me, Tommy?”

Shit, he hadn’t meant to admit that so soon. Or even be the first to admit it. 

“Well, I am fond of you...” he stalls. “You’re really nice and all, not bad to look at, a pretty decent singer...”

Adam’s eyes shine, his anxiety visibly fading. Tommy, in turn, relaxes. 

“I’ve been fond, as you put it, of you since the night of the reception party,” Adam says. “It was the sneer you gave me after I saw you with your mouth open in a huge yawn that did it.”

“What?” Tommy balks. He knew he’d never live that yawn down. “But you were such an asshole!”

Adam nods. “I’d been taught that things like love would just get in my way, ruin everything I’d worked hard for, distract me. I thought it’d be easier to shove you away before you even got close. But the night you wandered into the music library, you looked so confused and adorable, and I just didn’t want to fight it.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, trying not to smile. 

“In case you haven’t figured it out, I love you,” Adam states.

Tommy’s heart thuds. “Ti amo?”

“Ti amo, ti amo, il mio amore,” Adam whispers. “Yes, you heard me.”

Tommy smiles, glancing away, suddenly very self-conscious. 

“This is like some fucking fairy tale,” he quips. 

Adam laughs, and it’s good natured and charming, and holy shit he’s beautiful when his face lights up. Tommy’s heart soars. This man actually loves him. He feels like nothing in the world can touch him now. He slides over in the bed, being careful with himself, and pulls back the covers. Adam climbs in and lays next to him, careful not to press up against Tommy’s hips. Tommy snuggles his face into Adam’s neck. 

He has no idea what the future holds for either of them, and he’s aware that he could be in danger of his heart being shattered if and when Adam leaves the conservatory. There’s no way of predicting what will happen with Glory and her brutes, who are still on the loose. Will they come after Tommy again? Or worse, after Adam? Will he be able to prosecute them for what they did? The victim is responsible for bringing up and following through with prosecution rather than the constable, as well as paying for it. Would they be punished or freed? 

Too many serious unknowns keep Tommy feeling on edge as he listens to Adam’s breathing become deeper and more even. He knows Durante will do all he can, and he has more influence than Tommy, but he’s still afraid. He burrows deeper beneath the covers, into Adam, and effectively hides for the time being. He may be scared as hell, but now he knows for certain he’s not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I just made a video for this story! Nothing special, just pictures to the theme song. :)
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1VfX-BkVjU


	11. Just Believe in Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *read it* ;)

Tommy shifts in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position while trying not to look fidgety. He’s in his new music class, and he loves it, but sitting for a long period of time on a hard chair is still uncomfortable. He could bring a pillow to sit on, he supposes, but that would just draw attention, reminding everyone of what happened to him. He doesn’t need anymore reminders, thank you. He definitely doesn’t want the attention. So he discreetly squirms. He slides his ass to the edge of the seat, scrunching back, trying to drop most of his weight back onto his pelvic bone. It’s not a comfortable position for his lower back, but it takes pressure off his balls. When class is over, he’ll grab a cup of ice from the kitchen, go back to his room, put it on his crotch and breathe a sigh of relief. 

Tommy gets out of the chair as quickly (and carefully) as he can when class is over, and hurries out of the room. His attendance still isn’t regular in the rest of his classes, and Isaac brings him the assignments and notes each day. He faithfully attends the music class, though. It’s worth the discomfort. He hurries to the kitchen, slipping through the dinning room and through the swinging door. He spots Mrs Fiore vigorously stirring something in a bowl. Maestro Durante replaced Glory with a swiftness that was almost scary. He gave no explanation to anyone, just that her time with them was done. Now knowing a maid as young and flirtatious as she had been a grievous error, he replaced her with someone older, rounder, and more motherly. While the boys were visibly disappointed that their favorite eye candy was gone, they quickly got over it once they tasted Mrs Fiore’s cooking, which was ten times better than Glory’s. So Mrs Fiore won them over with food, and she quickly became accepted as the conservatory mother figure. She was warm, thoughtful, and she cared. 

Mrs Fiore looks up as Tommy walks towards her. She smiles brightly. She always has a smile for him. 

“Ah, young Tommy,” she says. “Your ice is in the freezer, ready for you. I’ll be glad for the day when you won’t need it, love.”

She’d been given minimal information about Tommy’s incident, and she said she didn’t need all the details, only to know what he needed and what she could do for him. She knew he was injured and sitting still gave him issues with swelling and pain, so every afternoon she had a cup of ice sitting in the freezer, ready for him. 

“What’s in the bowl?” Tommy asks, sliding up next to her.

“You just never mind,” she says, turning her back to him. 

He peers over her shoulder. “Is that... frosting?”

“No,” she says, a little too fast. 

Tommy grins. 

“It is frosting,” he says. “Chocolate!”

“This is nothing,” she insists, hunching over the bowl, trying to keep his nose out of it.

“Are you baking a cake?” Tommy reaches around her and sticks a finger in the brown goo. 

“Tommy, stop that!” she exclaims. 

He laughs as she swats at his hand as he scoops up frosting onto his finger and shoves it into his mouth. He sucks on his finger. The cocoa powder, butter, and sugar are blended nicely, and he lets out an appreciative moan. 

“It’s perfect,” he says. “Don’t change a thing.”

“You think so?” she asks. “Doesn’t need anything else? More vanilla?”

“Just needs a cake to go under it,” Tommy says. “Everyone’s gonna love it.”

She smiles with satisfaction and continues to stir. Tommy goes the freezer and gets his ice. He blows her a kiss on the way out the door, and she huffs at him, waving her hand as though she thinks he’s the world’s biggest rogue, but she’s still smiling. He knows she’ll send up a big piece of that cake for him later. 

He goes up the stairs to his room. Durante wasn’t kidding when he moved Tommy to the bigger room upstairs. It’s his permanently. And he’s just down the hall from Adam, which is even better. Not that Adam is ever in his room anymore. He pretty much stays in Tommy’s. Despite the attack and the fear and pain he’s been through, Tommy’s in pretty good spirits lately. He has a godfather and the most gorgeous boyfriend in the world, both of whom love him. He has a best friend, he’s studying music, has a nicer room and nicer things courtesy of Durante now feeling free to spoil him. He feels comfortable now, cared for, sheltered. He knows the other boys are becoming jealous. They know something bad happened and he’d been hurt, so they let slide his sudden elevation in status with understanding grumbles. But sympathy only goes so far, and he knows they’ll probably outright hate him eventually. He’ll deal with that when the time comes. Right now he’s got bigger things to worry about, like if there will be a trial or not. 

He opens his door and sees Adam sitting near the window, reading. Tommy smiles. He’s always smiling when Adam is near. It’s sort of annoying, that constant grin on his face, but he can’t help it. 

“Why aren’t you rehearsing?” he asks, shutting the door.

Adam closes his book and stands. 

“I called an early day,” Adam says, grabbing a cloth off the table. “Verdi fumed, but I’m not in the mood today.”

Tommy drops his books and sets the ice down. He wraps his arms around Adam and leans in for his kiss. Adam’s mouth on his never fails to set Tommy’s stomach a flutter. Being in love is so damn sappy.

Adam breaks the kiss, and motions him to the bed. Tommy takes off his pants and lies down, while Adam dumps the ice from the cup onto the cloth and folds it up. He sits next to Tommy, and Tommy widens his legs. Adam moves his flaccid cock to the side, looking at the wounds. The stitches are gone now, and the wounds are healing. They’re still puffy and red and sometimes itchy. The ache is underneath the gashes where the nerves and tissue are repairing themselves. Sometimes pain sparks through suddenly, making him jump and taking his breath away.

“Looking okay,” Dr Adam states, and places the ice cloth up against Tommy’s balls. 

Tommy sighs, feeling the heat being forced out by the cold, the swelling easing off. He holds the bundle in place, and Adam brushes his hair from his forehead. 

“Is it getting better?” Adam asks.

Tommy hums. “Some. Not as bad as it was, though.”

A week ago, Tommy couldn’t sit up for ten minutes without his balls being on fire. Today he can sit through class well enough, but he’ll be glad when he won’t need to ice his balls after. 

“Are you taking the rest of the day off?” Adam asks.

Tommy shrugs. “I guess. I mean, I don’t wanna ice myself down every hour. I’ll be glad when this is over. Why?”

“I thought we might go out, maybe to the canal. It’s nice down there this time of year,” Adam says.

“Go out?” Tommy repeats, his voice quiet. “Why don’t we stay here?”

“We always stay here,” Adam replies.

“Well, we can be alone here,” Tommy tells him. He feels a panic welling up. Go outside? He can’t go outside. Bad things happen outside. 

“You can’t stay shut up in here,” Adam says calmly. 

“I’m not,” Tommy informs him. 

“You haven’t set foot outside this conservatory since the attack,” Adam says. 

“So?” Tommy says, becoming defensive.

“You can’t stay shut up in here,” Adam repeats, keeping his voice even. 

“I’m not,” Tommy insists, agitation creeping into his voice. “I just... don’t have any reason to go outside, that’s all.”

“Now you do,” Adam counters. “I’m asking you to walk down to the canal with me.”

“I think we should stay here,” Tommy says with a smile. He’s going to try a different tactic. 

“Why?” Adam asks.

Tommy slides his hand up Adam’s inner thigh, giving him his best come hither grin. Adam arches an eyebrow, looking down at Tommy’s hand, then back up at Tommy.

“Do you really want to start using that as leverage?” he asks.

Tommy huffs and pulls his hand away. He turns his head to the side, not looking at Adam. 

Adam sighs. “I can’t force you, but you have to know this is becoming unhealthy, imprisoning yourself. I know you’re afraid. I don’t blame you. But hiding makes you weak, and you’re not weak.”

“They haven’t been caught, Adam,” he says through clenched teeth. “They’re still out there, all four of them, where anything can and does happen. I don’t want...”

He stops, feeling a hitch in his chest. He’s had enough nightmares. He’s scared enough. He’s safe here within these walls. They won’t come in here. Glory and her goons disappeared shortly after she was let go. Durante hadn’t told her what he knew, hoping to avoid this very situation of trying to hunt them down to prosecute, but it’d happened anyway. Tommy hasn’t stepped so much as a toe outside the doorway since. The thought of going out there where danger likely awaited him was terrifying. What would they do to him next time? He felt safe in here, so he stayed in here. It’s just easier to stay inside. 

Adam takes his hand, his thumb stroking the backside. 

“They’re probably thousands of miles away by now,” Adam tells him.

“You can’t be sure,” Tommy replies. 

“Tommy,” he starts.

Tommy turns his head back to Adam. 

“Please, don’t make me,” he pleads. “Don’t make me.” 

Adam’s resolve disappears. He has no intention of making Tommy do anything that’ll upset or scare him. 

“Of course I won’t,” he says, brushing his fingers over Tommy’s hair. “I’m just concerned, amore.” 

“I’ll be okay,” Tommy assures him, although he’s not really sure himself. “Soon as they’re caught, and this is all over.”

Adam sighs and gives Tommy a small smile of agreement, letting the argument go. For now. He motions at the ice pack. 

“That’s been on long enough,” he says, and Tommy hands it over. “We don’t want frostbite.”

“They feel a bit cold,” Tommy says, grinning slyly. “Maybe you could blow on them, warm them a little?”

“Blow on them?” he asks, biting his lip to keep the laughter in.

Tommy nods eagerly. Adam laughs, and leans down. He opens his mouth and releases a hot breath over Tommy’s balls. The sensation goes straight to Tommy’s cock. He winds his fingers in Adam’s hair, and Adam breathes on him again, his hand rubbing Tommy’s hip. When he breathes again, Tommy releases a small moan, his cock swelling. 

“Adam,” he whispers when Adam’s tongue licks up the underside of his cock. 

He shudders when Adam takes the head in his mouth, sucking slightly and his tongue playing over it, swirling with a small amount of pressure. Adam slowly slides down, taking him all the way in. Tommy’s grip on his hair tightens, and he moans, his hips twitching. He can feel his balls tightening, and while it makes the wounds ache, he’s not about to let Adam know. He’ll die if Adam stops. 

Adam moves into a rhythm, sucking gently but firmly, pausing at the top to flicking his tongue over the head, then down again. When Tommy unconsciously begins to pulse his hips up into Adam’s mouth, Adam stills. He let’s Tommy take over, playing his tongue on the underside as Tommy pushes upward, closing his mouth around his cock and creating pressure and suction as Tommy moves down. Tommy’s moans turn to gasps, his hips moving faster. Before he can come, Adam grabs his hips and holds him down, stopping all movement, and Tommy whines. He can feel the orgasm abating, and he wiggles his hips in Adam’s grip, trying to get some friction back. But Adam holds him still. 

Feeling cranky now that Adam isn’t immediately following through with Tommy’s wants and wishes, he questions Adam with a look. Adam releases him.

“I’m going to give you a little more this time,” Adam says. “Do you trust me?”

Tommy nods. Of course he trusts Adam. What kind of question is that? And what does he mean by more? Adam positions himself between Tommy’s thighs. He sucks on his finger as he looks down on him. Tommy would usually feel self-conscious, but not anymore. He gazes up at Adam with wonder, widening his legs a little more. Adam holds Tommy’s hip in one hand, leaning over him slightly. He presses his wet finger to Tommy’s ass. Tommy’s eyes widen when he feels it pressing against his hole, and he grabs Adam’s wrist, his nerves jumping. This is too new and he’s not mentally prepared. Adam stills. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I promise.”

Tommy hesitates, then nods, letting go of Adam’s wrist. He trusts Adam. 

“Just look at me,” Adam says. “Right here, nowhere else.”

His voice soothes Tommy, as usual, and he feels the finger push inside. It feels weird, but not bad. His breathing begins to smooth out as Adam’s finger gently moves in and out. It’s a strange rhythm, and Tommy’s hips start to twitch with it. 

“That’s good, baby,” Adam whispers. “You’re doing good. It’s gonna get better.”

Tommy loves any and all praise from Adam, so he tries relaxing into it more. Adam’s finger circles, and he can feel himself widening around it. It strikes him how intimate this is. Adam is inside him. The thought makes his cock stir. Tommy moves his hips a little more into Adam’s finger. It’s starting to feel pretty good, actually. He wonders if this will get him off. He’d really like to get off with Adam in him. He grabs himself and strokes. Adam’s eyes darken, his gaze intensifies. He pushes and circles his finger a little more firmly, watching Tommy. Being watched turns Tommy on, and his cock is fully awake and starting to throb. 

“Keep going,” Adam whispers. 

Tommy widens his legs a little more, stroking faster. The warmth flooding through him from Adam’s finger and his hand makes him squirm. Adam shifts his finger and presses, and Tommy’s world lights up. He’s never felt anything like that before, but he’s addicted to it now. Adam smirks, knowing what he’s done and doing it again. Tommy gasps, his mouth falling open. His hand moves quicker, his body starts to throb, even his lips are tingling. 

“Don’t stop,” Adam tells him. 

Tommy couldn’t stop even if Maestro Durante walked in right now. He pulls faster, glancing down and seeing Adam’s wrist working faster in him. He grabs Adam’s wrist again, pulling him in deeper, trying to make him hit that spot again. 

“Please,” he begs. 

Adam obliges. Over and over he hits that spot, faster, harder, and the look in his eyes devours Tommy. He writhes on Adam’s finger, completely open and unabashed. He wants more, wants to demand Adam add another finger, make him fuller, but he can’t make his mouth work. His legs shake, his own wrist aches, and his groans come out in short gasps. He can feel come hit his stomach a second before the orgasm rips through him. His entire body locks and explodes in an instant. Adam continues to mercilessly stroke that spot with his finger, Tommy still clutching his wrist. He can feel the blood running through his veins, and the only thing he can hear is Adam murmur, “Beautiful.”

It burns slightly when Adam pulls out his finger, and that part of Tommy feels a little empty. He wonders what it would feel like if it’d been Adam’s cock and not his finger. Is that even possible? A ripple of nervous want runs through him at the idea.  
Adam is still kneeling between his thighs, and Tommy can see the bulge. He sits up and pushes Adam backwards. He looks surprised, but willingly lies back on the bed, and Tommy unbuttons his pants. He slips them down and bites his lip at the sight of Adam’s hard cock. He did this. He made Adam this hard. Tommy leans down and takes him in, relishing the deep moan above. He moves up and down, sucking and licking just like Adam taught him. 

“You’re getting too good at this,” Adam says with a groan. 

Tommy keeps his pace. He wants to feel Adam throbbing in his mouth, down his throat. He wants the warm, unique taste of Adam’s skin to be permanently absorbed in his mouth, on his tongue. He wants everything that’s Adam inside of him. He’s only slightly aware of hands entwined in his hair, of the pants and pleas as Tommy swallows him down, forcing his throat to constrict over and over to pull Adam over the edge. He moans, tightly clutching Adam’s hips when they buck up into Tommy. He feels Adam pulsing in his mouth, in his throat, the hot fluid trickling down. When he pulls off, he sees Adam biting his own hand, frozen in place. He relaxes when Tommy pulls his hand from his mouth. He smiles at Tommy.

“Didn’t want to scream out loud,” he says. 

Tommy snorts. He lays next to Adam, snuggling into his side. 

“Are you hurting?” Adam asks, gesturing towards Tommy’s balls.

Tommy had forgotten all about that once Adam had his mouth on him. He looks down. They don’t look any redder, but now that the endorphines are receding some, he can feel soreness. 

“A little,” he shrugs. “So worth it, though.”

Adam squeezes him in a hug, then sits up and gets the melting ice pack. He squeezes out the water, then hands it to Tommy. He lays back down, gathering Tommy into him. 

 

“Tommy,” Maestro Durante greeted. “I’m pleased to see you. I have news for you.”

Tommy shuts the door of Durante’s library, and takes a seat across from the maestro. 

“First, how are you feeling?” Durante asks.

Tommy nods. “Good. Fine. Still hurts, but it’s bearable.”

“I’ve spoken to the doctor about long term damage,” Durante says. “It’s probably not a surprise given the injuries, but it’s not likely you’ll father children now.”

He pauses, and Tommy takes it in. He hasn’t planned on having kids, hasn’t thought of that at all actually, but now that he’s being told he can’t... he’s not sure how to feel. 

“Other than that, things look to be healing well,” Durante continues. “I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done about scarring, though. Especially since the blade penetrated all the way through.”

He kind of figured that, and he’ll just have to live with it. At least it doesn’t bother Adam that his balls are scarred up. Adam himself has a hell of a scar in that region. Tommy figures he got lucky that he even still has his balls. 

Durante continues when Tommy doesn’t respond. 

“As for legal proceedings,” he starts, then pauses. “Tommy, things don’t look promising.”

Tommy’s heart stops. He swallows, but it gets stuck in his throat. 

“What do you mean?” he asks quietly.

“I’ve had legal council, and the fact is, Glory was not present that night. Therefore, she cannot be tried,” he explains. “In fact, it’s nearly impossible to try a woman in this day and age, much less get a conviction. She wasn’t there, Tommy. There’s no way to prove she actually had anything to do with the attack.”

“But,” he starts, but his heart is pounding too fast for him to continue the sentence. He can’t even form a coherent thought right now. “They’re her friends.”

“Yes,” Durante agrees. “At least, they were. But there’s no proof that she told them to do this. They may’ve concocted the idea on their own. Carried it out without her knowledge.”

“She was so angry with me,” Tommy says, feeling as though he’s grasping at straws. She had to have known they were going to do what they did. All the shit they were saying to him, that had been her anger, not theirs. What the fuck did they care if he preferred girls or not? 

Durante gives him a sympathetic smile. “That’s not a crime, child. And the law simply views women as a lesser threat than men, and doesn’t see them as violent creatures.”

“What about the guys?” Tommy asks.

“Here’s where it gets complicated,” Durante says. “They’re apparently aware that you have a relationship with another man.”

“So?” Tommy utters.

“They will likely will accuse you of sodomy,” Durante states. “Which is a crime, and it’s punishable.” 

Tommy’s heart drops to his feet, and he can feel the blood drain from his face. He and Adam haven’t actually done that act, but they’re headed in that direction. 

“But we haven’t,” he starts, but let’s the sentence trail off. 

“Tommy, the court would insist on an exam,” Durante says. “A physical exam on you.”

“And they’ll see the accusation isn’t true,” Tommy says angrily. Why does he have to prove anything? Why does he have to worry about charges? He was attacked, why would he suddenly be the criminal? 

“I would prefer you not be subjected to that,” Durante tells him. “There are several witnesses present during that kind of exam, and it’s not exactly done with respect. You’d also have to prove somehow that you’re attracted to women.”

Tommy slumps in his seat. He feels like crying. Those assholes are just going to get away with what they did. And Tommy will live in fear of running into one of them, or all of them, for the rest of his life. How the fuck is this fair?

“What now?” he asks, feeling hopeless. “I just live with all this and hope they don’t decide to seek me out again and finish what they started?”

“There’s a little common law on the books that allows for what’s called a private prosecution,” Durante says, leaning back in his chair. “The practice is fading out, but it’s still legal.”

“What’s that?” Tommy asks.

“It’s when a criminal proceeding is done privately, by the individual harmed rather than going through the public prosecutor,” Durante says. 

“I wanna do that,” Tommy says quickly. “Let’s do that.”

“Tommy, I want you to realize that anything said and done before, during, and after this prosecution cannot be repeated outside the trial,” Durante’s tone grows hard. “Ever. You will never speak of it. You will go on as if it never took place, and as far as anyone outside this is concerned, it didn’t take place. Particularly the punishment. Is that clear?”

Tommy nods, slightly confused at Durante’s tone and insistence. If a private prosecution is legal, what is Durante worried about keeping secret? 

Durante studies him, then nods to himself, apparently satisfied. 

“Do you want to be present during the prosecution?” he asks. “I leave the choice to you, but know that I will understand and will not think less of you if you decide to be done with it all. I will take care of this, Tommy, either way. Would you like to face your attackers?”

“Face them?” he asks. “When you have them arrested?”

Durante smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Oh we’re not arresting them. And they’re already here.”

Tommy’s eyes widen. He feels almost dizzy.

“Here?” he asks, shocked. “Where? Here like in this building?”

“Don’t worry,” Durante says. “They can’t hurt you. But yes, they’re downstairs. In the basement.”

Tommy’s breath becomes erratic. They’re in this very building? When did this happen? Why wasn’t he told? How long have they been here?

“I’m heading up this... trial,” Durante continues. “As your guardian. No one knows about this Tommy, except us and those who brought them here.”

“Who brought them here?” Tommy asks quietly. He can’t imagine it was easy to get these guys here. There are three of them and they’re huge and mean.

“Does it matter, child?” Durante asks, skirting the question. “This will be resolved tonight. Now. Do you want to be present?”

Tommy thinks it over. Would it add fuel to the fire if he’s there? Then again, why should he still be afraid of them if they’re on his turf and being held accountable for their crimes. He’s not alone this time. 

“Yeah,” he says with determination. “I want to be there. I want to see this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a video I put together for this story  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1VfX-BkVjU


	12. The Wise Man Said Just Raise Your Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Durante's prosecution.

Durante leads Tommy down a dark, stone stairwell. They’re descending underneath the conservatory. Tommy had no idea anything was under the building. The air is colder the farther down they go. It smells of dirt and mold. If it wasn’t for the candle Durante was carrying, they’d be walking in total darkness. 

“This place used to be an asylum,” Durante tells him. “When I opened the conservatory, I kept this basement, if that’s what you want to call it, closed off. I had no use for it. Judging by the equipment that was removed from it, nothing good ever happened down here. That kind of energy lingers in a building, poisons the atmosphere. I wanted to keep it locked away.”

They reach the bottom of the stairs. Durante turns to him.

“Tommy, if you find this becoming too much, please, leave. It’s perfectly fine for you to leave,” he says. “I must ask you not to speak to them. No matter what they say to you or about you, don’t respond. It’ll only upset you.”

Tommy gives him a short nod, swallowing hard. He’s not at all sure what to expect and it makes him nervous. He wishes Adam was here. He wants to stay strong, though, and see this through, so he follows on. They walk down a narrow corridor and come out into an open, circular area. It’s dimly lit by wall sconces, but Tommy can see three bulky figures sitting on the floor, their backs against a wall directly ahead of him. Off to the right side of the room is a rolling metal table with various instruments on it. Three men, neither of whom Tommy’s seen before, stand next to it, silent, as still and compassionate as stone statues. They’re larger in size than the men on the floor, their expressions hard and indifferent. How does Durante know such people? 

Durante stops in front of the three on the floor. Tommy can see that each man’s wrists are bound together in front by shackles and chains. Tommy stands behind Durante, peering around the maestro. Durante was right; the atmosphere down here feels heavy and poisoned. Nothing good ever happened here, and never will. 

“I’m sure you know why we’re here,” Durante starts.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of the men on the floor snaps. Tommy recognizes him as the lead attacker. The one who did all the talking. The one who stabbed him. He notices Tommy standing behind Durante and he smirks. “Oh. That. I guess you’re still pretty mad about that, huh? You still a fairy, or did we cure you? Hey, no hard feelings, we were just trying to avenge our lady’s honor.”

“Indeed,” Durante says flatly. “So obviously you know what your crimes are, and because we want swift, fair justice, I will be handling this prosecution myself.” 

“Prosecution?” the guy sneers. “Are you serious? This isn’t a court. There’s no constable here. You can’t do this.”

“But I can,” Durante says with a tight smile. “And I will. You see, you purposely hunted down, attacked, and tried to kill my godchild. That, I can assure you, will never be tolerated. And I have the authority to deal with this, with you, as I please.”

“We weren’t trying to kill him,” the guy snaps. “We were trying to teach that freak a lesson.”

“And what lesson would that be?” Durante asks. 

“That if he wants to associate with monsters, he’s going to be treated like a monster,” the guy says. “He offended Glory by choosing that thing over her.”

“I see,” Durante falsely muses. “So you were doing her an honor? By ganging up and attacking a smaller boy? Did she thank you? Where is she? Certainly not here defending you.” 

“He’s sick, a disgusting pervert,” the guy spits, motioning to Tommy. “He had to be taught a lesson. He can’t be fucking men, or those monstrosities you call men, it’s wrong.”

“So you were concerned about Tommy’s morals as well,” Durante says coldly. “How noble.”

The guy snorts, glaring at Tommy. “If it wasn’t us, it would’ve been somebody else. You’re lucky you got off as easy as you did. I should’ve just sliced your dick off since you’re not using it for anything normal. Might have, too, but you passed out.” He snorts. “Fucking fainted. You fucking weakling. Can’t believe she even looked at you much less tried to fuck you.”

The other two attackers, the ones that held Tommy down, watch their friend silently. They’re showing no emotion, making no effort to speak or even move. Tommy can tell they’re nothing more than followers and the true definition of weakling. Seeing them bound up, sitting on the floor, Tommy’s not afraid of them.

Of course you’re not, he thinks. They’re shackled and there are three even larger guys and Durante in here with you. How could you be afraid? 

“Charming language,” Durante says with distaste. “Utter mystery why she didn’t stay around for you.”

He claps his hands together, changing the course of conversation. Tommy rather admires Durante’s confidence and ease in such a situation. 

“Now, it’s time to move ahead,” he says. “You’ve admitted more than sufficiently that you are guilty, so all that’s left now is punishment.”

At this, all three men look up at him in surprise, the other two attackers suddenly becoming animated. 

“Punishment?” the guy asks. “What the fuck do you mean? You can’t punish us!”

“That’s what you do in a trial,” Durante explains. “Sort of ends the whole affair.”

The two beside the leader become antsy, shifting in their spots, glancing in fear at the three larger guys standing by the table. 

“I always believe in letting the punishment fit the crime,” Durante continues. “And since you are well aware of the crime, I don’t think I need to explain the punishment, no?”

Durante motions to the guys next to the table, who move forward, almost as one. They reach down for the leader, who shrieks. His two accomplices cringe and hide their faces, turning away. The leader is lifted without effort and thrown down in the middle of the room. One of Durante’s men pins the leader’s arms above his head, another starts yanking down his pants. The third walks to the metal table and picks up a long, shiny object. He turns to the now blubbering attacker, half naked and being held down on the floor. The man struggles, but the two holding him are much stronger, and his efforts are futile. Durante stands over him.

“Hush now,” he says. “This is your remuneration, your payback for what you’ve done.”

Durante’s third man swiftly brings the knife down on the guy’s balls. Tommy can see the steel go right through the flesh, and he feels bile roll up his throat instantly. Dizziness sweeps over him as his own wounds begin to sting. He remembers the feeling of that blade going in, coming out, going in again... He turns away, holding his breath, willing himself not to vomit. The screams of his attacker deafen him. He doesn’t feel sorry for the guy at all, but if this isn’t over soon he’ll break down inside. He hears the chink of metal against stone as the knife is brought down again. Tommy puts a hand over his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. He hears the chink in the floor a third time. He turns around. He sees the other two attackers shrinking against the wall, almost as though they’re trying to melt into the wall and out of sight. Their leader is lying on the floor, bleeding freely, his mouth open wide in a silent scream. Tommy sees Durante’s man wielding the knife reach down and pull a lump of flesh off the floor from between the guy’s legs. He plops it down on the attacker’s chest. The guy lets out an anguished wail. Durante just had him castrated. Tommy’s vision swims and he backs away from the scene. That could’ve been him. That could’ve have happened to him that night. He was so close... Durante is suddenly beside him, holding him up. Tommy suddenly can’t remember how he got down here. For some reason it seems important. Durante blocks his view. 

“Go upstairs,” he orders. “I shouldn’t have let you come down here, but I gave you the choice. You’ve seen enough. Go upstairs. Go to Adam, and forget this night. This is done. There’s nothing more to fear. Do you hear me, child?”

Tommy nods weakly. Adam, yes. Adam would make this scene go away. Adam would make this night disappear. Retribution has been delivered. Tommy can move on now. Durante guides him to the stairs, almost carrying him, and lets him go at the foot. Tommy doesn’t look back, but starts to climb the stairs as quick as he can manage. The screams fade behind him the higher he goes, until he shuts the door. 

He reaches his room in a daze, gliding down the halls in an almost ghost like manner. He hopes the vision of his attacker being castrated leaves him one day. Or at least becomes less vivid. He briefly wonders if the other two will be granted the same fate, how will they all recover, then decides he doesn’t really care. 

He opens his door. The room is dimly lit by a glow from the fireplace, and the air is warm. He sees Adam’s black hair sticking out from under the covers. Tommy closes the door softly and stands by the bedside and watches him. Adam’s breath is deep and even. His body doesn’t even twitch underneath the covers. His face is relaxed and as lovely as Tommy’s ever seen it, the firelight making every angle and shadow soft and angelic. He takes in the sight of Adam, of the room, this is what he wants to remember about tonight. Everything in this room is calm and inviting. He can feel his anxiety begin to fade. He quietly slips out of his clothes, dropping them in a pile to the side, and climbs under the covers. He slides in carefully, nudging Adam’s body with his. Adam inhales deeply and wraps an arm around Tommy, hugging him close, still asleep. 

He wakes hours later to soft kisses on his cheek, his jaw, his forehead. He opens his eyes, looking up into Adam’s crystal blue ones. He smiles. Last night seems like just an ugly dream. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Adam asks.

He knows Tommy was summoned to Durante’s office last night, and that something happened, but not what. Tommy shakes his head.

“The men were punished,” Tommy tells him. “That’s all.”

“Are you okay?” Adam asks. 

Tommy nods. And he is. Adam smiles, apparently satisfied, and kisses Tommy’s lips. Tommy pushes his tongue into Adam’s mouth, pulling his arms out from under Adam’s chest and wraps them around his shoulders. He pulls Adam closer, moving his body so that all of him is directly under Adam. He’s waited ages for this, and he can’t wait anymore. He clutches Adam’s head, his tongue diving deeper, and he moves his hips up into Adam’s. He swallows the moan from Adam, relishing the feel of it through his mouth and throat. He hooks his ankles around Adam’s calf muscles and holds tight, almost as if he’s trying to meld into him. His cock is fully awake, and judging by the feel, so is Adam’s. Adam thrusts against him gently, then with more insistence. They slide together easily, the pre-come smearing over both giving it more sensation; they fit. 

When Adam changes the angle of their kiss, Tommy pulls back. 

“I want more this time,” he says, and Adam pauses. 

“What do you want, Tommy,” he asks, stroking Tommy’s cheek with his thumb.

“Everything,” Tommy tells him. “I want everything.”

“Are you sure?” Adam asks, and Tommy nods. 

“I need everything from you,” he says. 

Adam raises up slightly and leans over to the table beside the bed. He pulls open the drawer and brings out a tiny bottle.

“What’s that?” Tommy asks. 

Adam smiles. “Oil.”

“What’s it for?” he asks. 

Adam smiles comically, and Tommy blushes with realization. He hides his face against Adam’s shoulder and snorts. When Adam starts laughing, Tommy bites his shoulder. Adam hollers and buries his face in Tommy’s neck. When he bites Tommy’s neck, then licks a stripe up to the back of his ear, Tommy ceases giggling. He closes his eyes and softly whimpers as Adam nibbles a trail down to his nipple. He sucks on it gently, making Tommy squirm under him. Each time Adam’s tongue flicks his nipple, the sensation shoots straight to his cock, making it twitch. His whimpers become moans as Adam mouths his way down his body. He licks a hip bone and Tommy jerks. It’s ticklish. Adam licks Tommy’s shaft, and Tommy immediately widens his legs, giving Adam better access. His fingers grip Adam’s arms, and he watches intently, not wanting to miss anything Adam does. He can’t keep from closing his eyes when Adam sucks him down, though. He can feel his cock slide down Adam’s throat easily, and he shudders. He grasps Adam’s head as he sucks. He wants more than this, but fuck this is so good he’s not entirely sure he wants to stop. 

Adam pulls off and kisses the tip, smiling slyly at Tommy. Still holding the bottle in one hand, he opens it and pours the oil onto his fingers. He caps the bottle and tosses it to the side within easy reach. 

“Remember when I gave you my finger?” he asks, and Tommy nods eagerly. “You took it well. I’m going to do that again, and then I’m going to give you more, because you asked. And I think you’re ready.”

Tommy, completely unabashed, spreads his legs as wide as he can. Adam doesn’t miss the invitation, and he slides a finger into Tommy, the oil making it so easy. Tommy’s body inwardly flinches at the intrusion, but relaxes quickly. It’s Adam. No reason to be nervous. Adam moves quicker than he did the first time, pushing, pulling around the ring and making it widen. When he adds the second finger, it feels strange to Tommy. He tries not to tense, but he can’t help it. 

“Relax, amore,” Adam croons. “You’re doing good. You’re perfect.”

Tommy takes a deep breath, trying to get back into that zone. 

“Tommy, I want you to stroke yourself,” Adam tells him. “Do that for me. Show me how good this feels.”

Tommy grabs his cock, which has deflated some, and begins to stroke. He pauses and slides his hand down to Adam’s fingers, smearing some of the oil onto his hand, then reaches for his cock again. His body is much more responsive as he jerks himself with an oiled hand, and when Adam adds a third finger, Tommy writhes into it. He can feel his body pulling it in, and it’s not enough. His toes clench the bedcovers, his back arches, and he pleads with Adam. 

“I need you, Adam,” he says with urgency. “Now. Please, now.”

Adam’s eyes are smoldering, and he pulls out his fingers. Tommy feels empty again. He doesn’t like it. Adam pours more oil into his palm and quickly smears it onto his cock. Tommy’s hips raise up to meet his cock. 

“Come on,” he urges. “Fill me, Adam. Fuck me. Please do it.”

Adam reaches under Tommy and spreads his cheeks apart as he pushes in. The muscles in Tommy’s ass don’t want to cooperate with this bigger intrusion, but they quickly give in as Adam’s thumbs massage each side of his hole. Adam doesn’t pause. He fucks Tommy slowly, and the look on his face is pure bliss. Tommy lets the moment overwhelm him. Adam is taking over him. He clutches Adam’s hips and watches them move back and forth, feeling Adam’s cock move in and out of him. He wonders if Adam will hit that same spot that he did with his finger. And then he does. Tommy nearly comes undone as the stab of pleasure radiates out. 

“Oh god, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Adam whines. “Fuck, you’re hot and tight, and so perfect around me.”

Tommy can feel Adam getting harder as he thrusts into him. He grabs Adam’s ass and pulls his own legs back farther. He can’t get Adam in far enough, deep enough. He wants Adam in so deep that they’ll never be separate again. Adam gets his knees up closer to Tommy. He pushes back on Tommy’s thighs, and he plunges in. He stays deep, snapping his hips in short pulses against Tommy’s prostate, and Tommy nearly goes mad. 

“Oh fuck, Adam,” he cries. “Adam, please, make me come, please, Adam.”

Adam reaches down and jerks Tommy’s cock. He chants his litany to Adam until his body snaps with one long, intense orgasm. He watches himself come and it makes him come harder. Adam buries himself in one last thrust, trembling against Tommy. For for a while the only sounds are pants and whimpers as they wrap themselves around each other, holding tight. 

When Tommy catches his breath, he nudges Adam’s cheek with his nose, kissing him when Adam turns to him. Adam returns the kiss with a satisfied sigh. 

“Are you going to classes today?” Adam asks. 

Tommy frowns. “Classes? What?”

Adam grins. “Yes, classes. Everything’s worked out, right? You need to get back into things.”

“But,” Tommy doesn’t know what to say. After this, he sort of wanted to stay in bed with Adam all day. 

Adam laughs at his bewilderment. 

“I’ll meet you back here this evening, like always,” he tells Tommy. “I’ve got rehearsal all day.”

Tommy pouts. He can’t help it. Adam just totally crushed his euphoria. Adam kisses him, and Tommy frowns harder just to amuse him.

“I’ll meet you back here,” Adam says, smiling wider. “And we can lock the door and ignore the world until tomorrow.”

“Oh fine,” Tommy says. Adam’s smile is infectious, so he can’t keep up a good scowl anyway. 

Tommy moves through his day on a perpetual high. He can still feel Adam moving through him, and he’s damn near giddy. Even Isaac teases him about his jovial mood. He pays attention, takes his notes, walks the halls, laughs at jokes, but inwardly focused and obsessed on returning to his room, and finding Adam waiting. When it’s finally time to go upstairs, he nearly runs. Actually, he does run. He bursts through the door and sees Adam waiting. His heart nearly bursts with delight. All night alone with this man... he can barely stand himself. But Adam doesn’t look as happy as Tommy. In fact, Adam looks distracted and miserable. The joy starts to fade from Tommy and he asks Adam what’s wrong. Adam gives him a pained look. 

“I’m leaving, Tommy,” Adam says thickly. “Verdi is pulling me out of the conservatory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1VfX-BkVjU


	13. Will You Send Me An Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End.

Tommy feels the color drain out of life. 

I’m leaving. 

Is that what Adam said? He’s leaving? 

Verdi is pulling me out of the conservatory.

No, that can’t be. Because things are going well for Tommy, and Adam is central to that. He can’t go. Not now. 

Tommy stares at Adam, who looks as grieved as Tommy feels. Life without Adam. Tommy suddenly feels heavy as though life were actually weighing him down. 

“You can’t,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. 

Adam starts towards him, but Tommy backs away. The pain of rejection flashes across Adam’s face, then it’s gone. Tommy can see the cold, hard castrato Adam keeps underneath trying to resurface. Tommy doesn’t want that either. But he can’t accept this. He knows this isn’t Adam’s fault, but it doesn’t matter overall. Bottom line, he’s leaving. Leaving Tommy. 

“I don’t want to,” Adam says. 

“Then don’t,” Tommy replies. 

“I don’t have a choice, Tommy,” he says. His tone, his eyes plead for Tommy to understand, to comfort them both. “I’m under contract with Verdi. If I break it, he’d take everything my family has.”

Tommy swallows thickly. It catches in his throat and it hurts. 

“When?” he asks. 

“Tomorrow,” Adam tells him. 

Tommy can’t hold back the emotion any longer. Adam gathers him to his chest as he wails. He holds Tommy tight, and Tommy can feel him trembling in his own sorrow. He grips Tommy so tightly that Tommy will have bruises later. When his cries begin to calm, Tommy starts plotting how they can stay together. 

“Where?” he simply asks. 

“We’ll be traveling,” Adam answers, crushing Tommy’s plans to sneak out every night to see him. “He says it’s time for me to sing professionally and travel, like the rest of the castrati. It’s what I was made for, Tommy.”

He won’t even get to see Adam. This brings a fresh wave of tears, his throat closing up because of the strain. His head is pounding, his face is hot and wet. He feels drained. He pulls away from Adam, and turns away. 

“I need to be alone,” he states. 

He can feel Adam’s stare. It’s heavy and regretful. Tommy doesn’t know what to do with this. He doesn’t know how to sort it, or what to feel. Most importantly, he doesn’t know how to get through it and keep living. 

“I understand,” Adam finally replies. His voice is barely above a whisper. 

When he shuts the door behind him, Tommy fights not to tear it off its hinges and run after him and beg him to stay. He knows Adam would stay if his family wasn’t at stake. Tommy collapses to his knees and weeps. 

Hours later he can’t cry anymore. His face is swollen and throbbing. He can’t breathe through his nose, and his breath is coming in hitches. When he stands, he gets dizzy. This is utter torture. Glory’s friends stabbing him through the balls hadn’t hurt as bad as this. His heart seizes again at the thought of life without Adam. He can only manage to utter a croak now instead of a cry, his body giving out. He stumbles around the room, bumping into a chair, which he considers Adam’s chair since Adam is always sitting in it, reading. His heart thuds so hard he can feel it in his temple. He trails a hand over the fabric of the chair, then stumbles across the room to the door. 

When he gets to Adam’s room, he quietly opens the door. He’s not sure if Adam will be in the mood to see him now. Not after Tommy made him leave. Fuck it, he’s not going to see Adam again after tomorrow, so Adam can just get over his barging in at this late hour. He sees Adam in bed, barely lit by the dim firelight. He closes the door and walks to the bed. Adam pulls back the covers and Tommy climbs in. He gives in to Adam’s crushing embrace, his heart suddenly feeling calmer. 

“I’m still yours,” Adam says. 

Tommy grips Adam’s shirt, and his body gives way to sleep. 

 

“Where are you going first?” Tommy asks. 

He’s helping Adam pack. He’s tempted to hide all of Adam’s clothes. If he has no clothes, he can’t leave the building, right? Adam’s not taking much with him. His favorite clothes, a few books, and a book of copied arias that he’ll need. Tommy opens the notebook and flips through the pages, gazing fondly over Adam’s handwriting. He notices a folded piece of paper stuck in the back. He unfolds it. It’s sheet music from a song he was trying to compose. He had no idea Adam had this. He’d thrown it out because he thought it terrible. Tommy’s throat closes and his eyes threaten to spill more tears. He folds the paper and puts it back, closing the book. 

“Spain, I think,” Adam says. 

Tommy turns and gives him his best smile, though it’s halfhearted. 

“I hear Spain is a great place,” he replies. 

Adam looks at him longingly. “I’ll write, of course.”

“Of course,” Tommy nods. He doesn’t bother to point out that he can’t write back to Adam if he’s traveling and not staying in one place. 

“I wish you were going with me,” Adam says. 

Tommy can see the tears building in Adam’s eyes, and he looks away. He can’t handle another break down. Not yet. There will be plenty more of those to deal with once Adam’s gone. The porter barges into the room to collect Adam’s bags and take them downstairs to the carriage. When he’s gone, Adam and Tommy just stare at each other. This is it. 

“I’ll walk you down,” Tommy says, his voice barely a whisper. 

Adam nods, a small sad smile on his lips. This is killing him as much as it is Tommy. They walk downstairs in silence, Adam taking Tommy’s hand and gripping it tightly. When they reach the door and walk down the front steps, Tommy drags his feet. He stops in the middle of the stairs. Adam gives him the same sad smile again. Tommy’s heart races. It’s the scariest goodbye he’s ever known. When his parents died, Tommy knew they were no longer in the world, and it was a different kind of goodbye, but Adam... Adam is still going to be out there, somewhere, with someone. And there’s every chance he’ll forget Tommy. 

He feels heartache swelling up again, taking over his entire chest and constricting his breathing. Adam embraces him, hugging him hard. 

“I love you, Tommy,” he says in Tommy’s ear. “This isn’t forever. I promise.”

Tommy doesn’t believe him and he can’t speak. He just tightens his hold on Adam, closing his eyes and wishing this is all a dream. 

“Adam,” Verdi shouts. “In the carriage. Let’s go, per favore.” 

Tommy glares at the maestro over Adam’s shoulder. This is all his fault. Verdi grumbles and climbs into the carriage. Adam and Tommy reluctantly part. Adam wipes a tear from Tommy’s cheek. He leans in and kiss Tommy softly. When he turns to go, Tommy feels his soul die. His feels as though he’s standing in a vacuum as he watches the carriage drive away with the love his life inside. Tears flow freely down his face, but he hardly notices. He stands frozen in place on the steps of the conservatory, silent, feeling detached from his life as he stares after the carriage. When he can no longer see it, he walks the rest of the way down the steps, and heads to the canal. 

He sits by the Naviglio Pavese, like Adam had wanted and he’d refused, for several hours. Not speaking, not making a sound, watching the activity all around. He watches people walking over the bridge, floating in and out of the pubs and shops and cafes. Life goes on all around him and he feels scorned by it, set apart from them as they go on about their lives while his world just crumbled. Didn’t they know this was all futile? 

“Tommy?” Isaac’s voice comes from behind him. 

He doesn’t turn or answer. Isaac sits beside him and drapes an arm across his shoulders.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Isaac says. 

Tommy shakes his head. 

“Nothing is okay,” Tommy tells him. 

“I know that’s how it feels,” Isaac says. “But in time...”

“Oh fuck time,” Tommy snaps. “In time he’ll forget me. In time he’ll find someone else. Someone else who will...”

He can’t even finish the sentence. The thought of someone else holding Adam, kissing Adam, pleasing Adam, loving Adam makes him nauseated.

“That’s not true,” Isaac replies, and Tommy snorts.

“It is,” he states flatly. “You know it and I know it and Adam knows it. And that’s just how it is.”

Isaac says nothing. It doesn’t matter what he says, Tommy will refute everything he suggests. Maybe later he’ll listen to reason and have hope in the future, but not today. Today everything is too raw. 

“We should get back,” Isaac finally says. “It’s getting late. You’ve been out here a long time.”

“Yeah, I want to see Durante,” Tommy says getting to his feet.

“But he’s not here,” Isaac tells him. 

“What do you mean he’s not here?” Tommy snaps. 

Isaac looks confused at Tommy’s tone. 

“He left last night,” he says. “I thought you knew.”

“Where did he go?” Tommy asks, feeling panic rise. His guardian is gone, too?

“I don’t know,” Isaac says. “He left with a trunk, I don’t think he’s going to be back for a while.”

Tommy feels himself deflate a little more inside. No Adam. No Durante. He’s alone. Again. 

Isaac punches him in the arm. 

“I’m still here, you twit,” he informs Tommy. “I”m not Adam or your godfather, but I am your friend.”

“You’re right,” Tommy says, feeling like the worst friend ever. “Sorry.”

“I understand,” Isaac says. “But I’m here and I’ll help you through as much as I can.”

Tommy nods, looking down at his feet. 

“I’ll even sing for you,” Isaac says with a wide grin. 

“No don’t,” Tommy says quickly.

Isaac begins belting out an Italian ballad, and doing it badly. Tommy covers his ears in mock horror. 

“Come on, sunshine,” Isaac sings. “You know you love it! 

He sings louder, and Tommy laughs, trying to run from his friend, pretending he doesn’t hear or even know Isaac. For a moment his sorrow is forgotten. Isaac finally stops singing and claps Tommy on the shoulder. Tommy smiles back at him and they head back to the conservatory together. 

 

Two weeks later...

 

... The day is gray and cold as Tommy sits on the conservatory steps, staring out over the street. He’s not looking at anything in particular. It’s been two weeks since Adam left, but it already feels like a lifetime. Tommy moves during the days without emotion or energy, going from one class to another, doing homework, smiling when someone looks at him so no one whispers behind his back. His nights are lonely and anguished. His grief for his lost love is so overwhelming it’s deadened everything inside him. He doesn’t see how he’ll ever feel normal again. It doesn’t matter, he supposes. He hasn’t heard from Adam, and Durante isn’t back either. 

“Hey,” Isaac says, sitting next to him. 

Tommy turns to him and smiles.

“You can stop flashing that fake smile at me,” Isaac tells him. “Shoot it at everybody else all you want, but you be real with me.”  
“Sorry,” Tommy says, and the smile disappears. 

“Give him time,” Isaac says. “Takes a while to get to Spain. There’s no telling what condition the roads are in all the way there, or what the weather’s been like. And he’s gonna be busy when he first arrives. He’s probably been writing you since the carriage left here, and you’ll get a letter as thick as a book soon.”

Tommy nods, giving Isaac a genuine, albeit sad, smile. He knows his friend is trying to give him hope, and he appreciates it. And he wishes what his friend says is true. But he knows it’s not. Adam’s already moved on from Tommy. 

Tommy sighs heavily, looking down at the steps. He’s too tired to even pretend to be looking at anything anymore. He wonders if there will come a day when he won’t feel so flat inside. He hears the crunching of wheels roll up, and Isaac nudges him.

“Hey, Durante’s back,” Isaac says. “That’s his carriage.”

Tommy doesn’t look up. Who cares? Durante’s back. That’s good. One less thing to cry over. He immediately feels bad for thinking this way. Of course he’s glad Durante’s back. He’s just so tired. He props his head in his hand, closing his eyes. He can hear the porter unhooking things, and soon he’ll be hauling Durante’s trunk inside. 

“Well, I’ll be going inside now,” Isaac states loudly, clearing his throat. 

Tommy doesn’t answer, and Isaac gets up and hurries away. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been sitting out here since I left,” a smooth voice says. 

Tommy’s eyes fly open and he looks up. Adam stands in front of him with a teasing, yet sympathetic smile. Tommy’s heart leaps into his throat, and he jumps off the step and into Adam’s arms. He can hardly believe Adam is standing here. Is it a dream? It can’t be. He can feel Adam, he can smell Adam.

“Is this a dream?” he asks. If it is, he hopes he dies in his sleep so he doesn’t wake from it. 

Adam chuckles. “No dream, amore. I’m here.”

Tommy loosens his hold just enough to look Adam in the eyes. 

“I told you it wouldn’t be forever,” Adam says. 

“How?” Tommy asks. He touches Adam’s face, assuring himself this is real. “I don’t understand...”

“Oh heavens, don’t drop that box,” Durante orders. “It contains the most fascinating French painting of the death of Socrates.” He marches up the steps behind the porter, stopping to look over at Adam and Tommy, still embracing. 

“Dear child, I hope you haven’t been sitting out here for two weeks,” Durante scolds. 

Tommy gives him a dizzy smile, and Durante proceeds on into the conservatory, shouting at the porter that the crash he just heard better not be what he thinks it is. Tommy still doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he likes it as long as it means Adam is here. He looks up at Adam, the question evident on his face. 

“Durante caught up with us just outside of France. We were almost to Spain,” Adam explains. “He’d gone to see my parents first, but he bought my contract from Verdi.”

“What does that mean?” Tommy asks, hope filling him. “Are you back to stay?”

“I am,” Adam says, a smile lighting up his face. “Durante is going to be my maestro and composer until you are ready.”

“Ready for what?” Tommy asks.

“To be a composer,” Adam says. “My composer.”

“Your...” Tommy can’t form a thought right now. “Composer... Your what?”

Adam laughs. “Yes, my composer. You’re going to write music and I will sing it.”

“I don’t understand,” Tommy says. “I’m not that good.”

Adam scoffs. “You’ve got talent, Tommy. Durante agrees. So I’ll wait for you.”

Tommy hugs Adam tightly. He feels like he’s in a whirlwind. Wasn’t he feeling dead inside a few minutes ago? How can the world possibly look so bright now? How can he feel so alive and so hopeful in the space of a few minutes? He looks at Adam again, taking him in. This man is the reason. This love. He notices that snow flakes are starting to fall. 

“We should go in,” he says. 

He takes Adam’s hand and leads him inside, almost afraid to take his eyes of him lest he disappear and this has been an illusion. 

“They’ll be putting my things back in my room,” Adam says nonchalantly. “We should probably go to yours for a while. Until they’re finished.”

“Of course,” Tommy replies with a smile. He knows this game. “That’s a fantastic idea.”

When they reach his room and Adam shuts the door, Tommy turns to him, gazing intently into those crystal blue eyes. He’s hard instantly. Adam pulls him into a kiss, both shedding their clothing at the same time. They fall together onto the bed, licking and groping and clutching each other. Without turning away from Adam, Tommy pulls open his drawer next to the bed and blindly reaches for the small bottle of oil Adam had left in there. Adam takes it from him.

“Go lock the door,” he tells Tommy.

Thinking that’s a good idea, Tommy gets up and nearly runs to the door to lock it. When he turns back, his breath catches in his throat. Adam is spread out on the bed, the open bottle in one hand, and his other hand coated in oil sliding down between his legs. Staring at Tommy, he pushes a finger into himself, and Tommy inwardly groans. This is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Come here, baby,” Adam says, jolting Tommy out of his trance.

Tommy crawls up the bed to kneel between Adam’s spread legs, watching Adam’s finger. He bites his bottom lip when Adam adds a second finger and pushes them deep, stretching himself. Tommy leans down and touches his lips to Adam’s stomach. His skin is so warm, and Tommy breathes him in. He plants small kisses and gives little nudges with his nose all around Adam’s stomach and groin. He briefly sucks the head of Adam’s cock, enjoying the moan it pulls from Adam, then kisses down Adam’s wrist. Adam has added a third finger, and Tommy watches him, fascinated. Adam hands him the bottle. Tommy hesitantly pours out a few drops of oil into his hand. He looks back at Adam once he’s set the bottle down. 

“Put it on your cock,” Adam tells him. “I want you in me.”

Tommy doesn’t waste anytime, and when Adam pulls him inside, Tommy’s mouth drops open and he gasps. Adam is so warm and soft inside, his body clenching around Tommy, hugging his cock. Adam pulls him in as deep as he can go, then he wraps his long legs around Tommy to lock him in place. Tommy’s enjoying the sensation and doesn’t want to move yet, but Adam grabs his hips and guides him out and then in. The feel of Adam’s ass so warm and slick nearly does Tommy in. He takes over the motion himself, pushing into Adam. He rubs his face against Adam’s cheek, like a kitten. His breath comes out in shudders and pants. 

“Baby, that’s good,” Adam hums. 

Still holding Tommy’s hips, he shifts them slight, and when Tommy pushes in again, Adam’s face become delirious with pleasure. Tommy guesses Adam guided him to “that spot” and he pushes at it harder and faster. Adam’s moans become louder. He watches almost mesmerized at himself pumping into Adam’s ass, Adam’s hard cock bouncing and leaking, and Tommy reaches out to touch it. When he strokes the head, Adam cries out his name loudly, and come shoots from his cock. Tommy is so focused on what he’s seeing that his own orgasm takes him by surprise. Suddenly, his body is shaking with it all the way down to his toes, and he feels himself come hard and hot into Adam’s body. Adam’s legs tighten around him, holding him inside, holding him close, and Tommy whimpers. He doesn’t want this to be over yet. He lays his head on Adam’s shoulder, shuddering. Everything feels too good to move. 

His gaze lifts to the window. It’s gotten darker out, and it’s snowing hard. It’s the prettiest snow he’s ever seen. Tommy cherishes the moment they’re in. They’re wrapped in warmth and love, wrapped in each other, while the rest of the world is cold and gray. He’s so comfortable, so relaxed. 

Adam unhooks his legs from Tommy’s waist and stretches them out, but keeps Tommy tightly against him. He sighs deeply. 

“I can’t believe all this,” Tommy whispers. 

“I was shocked when Durante showed up,” Adam says. “I thought something awful had happened to you. He assured me that you were physically okay, and then sent me to a café while he talked to Verdi. After an hour, Durante came to the café and told me that when he heard that Verdi was pulling me from the conservatory, he knew you would be devastated. He, of course, didn’t want to lose a great singer, but he didn’t want to see us split apart. So he left that night to see my parents. He negotiated with them, raised their stipend for my performances, then set off to meet Verdi and me. That negotiation was much harder, and I’ve no doubt cost Durante more money, but he bought out the remainder of my contract with Verdi. And the next day we set out to return here. He said he would assume responsibility as maestro for me only, and when your talents were ready, you would take over. We would be a team.”

“I’m not that good,” Tommy tells him. “I’ve got a long way to go. 

“You’re better than you think,” Adam says. “Have faith in yourself.”

Tommy shrugs. Adam slides out from under Tommy, turning them to lay on their sides, facing each other. 

“You’re a great writer,” he says. “And you’re gonna be amazing with more training. I can’t wait to sing for you.” 

“And we’re going to travel?” Tommy asks. “I get to go with you?”

“Of course,” Adam says. “It’s you and me all the way.”

Tommy smiles. “We’re gonna be unstoppable.”

“We’ll charm the world, amore,” Adam says. 

~finito

 

“As a guitar player you’re answering to his voice, and it just goes back and forth.” Tommy Joe Ratliff on playing for Adam Lambert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. I can't believe how sad I am this is done. Many many thanks to those who stuck with this story! I appreciate it more than you know! <3  
> In case you missed it, here's a little video I put together for this story.  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1VfX-BkVjU
> 
> Sequel: Twilight of the Angels http://archiveofourown.org/works/1078911


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